


Read All About It

by Hibanai



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alpha Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst, Crossover, Dubious Consent, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Omega Q, Omega Verse, Rare Pairings, References to Knotting, Resentment, Romance, Sarcasm, Soul Bond, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 48
Words: 108,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hibanai/pseuds/Hibanai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q hates Alphas, hates that he's an Omega, and hides the fact that the letters that dance on his rib cage mark him as Tony Stark's property.<br/>Steve Rogers, more than anything, just wants a soul mate, somebody to love. But he's a Beta and Betas don't have mates. Even if he pretends to be an Alpha.<br/>Tony Stark lets everyone think that his Omega is dead. It's easier than explaining that he has no idea who his Omega is and that the only thing he knows about his soul mate is that he or she doesn't want him.<br/>Alec Trevelyan was born an Omega with a dead soul mate; they grafted the name of his soul mate off his skin, gave him pills, and raised him as an Alpha. Now he's stuck in between, neither Alpha nor Omega.<br/>This is their love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here I am, with another Tony/Q with Alec/Q on the way and what the hell am I thinking/doing. It's much different from my other fic, but I hope people will enjoy the pairing nonetheless.
> 
> Non-beta'd, all mistakes are mine, feel free to help fix them, etc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you TouchoftheWind for the pretty banner! :D

  
[](http://s225.photobucket.com/user/TouchoftheWind/media/ReadAllAboutIt_zpsa81562b6.jpg.html)  


David hates Alphas. Always has, always will. (Or so he likes to think.) He hates the way their lecherous gazes always linger a second too long, the way they interpret “no” to mean “I'm playing hard to get,” and, most of all, the way he’s powerless to stop them, his limbs too fragile, theirs too persistent. (More accurately, he hates the way he lets them take and _take_ and how he craves their approval.) On his seventeenth birthday, when the letters _Tony Stark_ appeared on his body – dancing along the bones of his right ribcage – and branded him an Omega, Stark’s _property_ , he began taking heat suppressants. He will never become desperate for a knot, for an Alpha. He will never bond.

It’s a cloudy Thursday. He’s been twenty for a week now. He’s used to the way the skin stretching over his ribs burn and ache with every breath, the name imprinted there refusing to be ignored. He’s used to the way he sometimes feels searing pain that doesn’t belong to him or random rushes of sexual desire at the oddest of hours. (Apparently this only happens to people with strong bonds. The Omega who told him so had looked so envious and told him he was lucky, so lucky.) He's almost used to the rush of panic that accompanies going into cardiac arrest despite the fact he's _almost_ perfectly healthy. (Sometimes he swears he can feel a whir of electricity in his chest.)

He has long ago accepted the fact that anyone who looks at him will know he’s an Omega; it’s the price he pays for refusing to ever go into heat. The suppressants dull the hormones that cause heats, but they also stop him from growing. He’s the same height as he was when he was seventeen. He was a decent height then so he’s not short now, but he never properly filled out. He’s small, like a good, obedient Omega should be.

The Alphas in Q branch, meaning everyone in Q branch, never fail to remind him of this. He’s slowly working his way up the ladder in Q branch, but it’s rough; nobody trusts an unmated Omega boy who is barely out of his teens to do anything but be a burden. He proves them all wrong, but they refuse to acknowledge that he's smarter than them. Sometimes, when there’s nothing urgent going on he gets his revenge for their sharp comments, bruising shoulders, and wandering hands. Their cell phones lock them out for hours, their computers become unable to do anything but play cat videos on an endless loop, their keyboards shock them at unpredictable intervals, their cars’ radios play “Barbie Girl” nonstop and refuse to turn off, and their “secure” work e-mails are spammed with advertisements for knot enlargement procedures and messages from sleazy Alphas – who think they’re messaging submissive little Omegas from a dating site – promising to fill their pretty, greedy holes. He makes sure to never leave a fingerprint, physical or virtual. They’d suspect him, but he’s just an Omega: harmless. 

He hates the Alpha mindset of the Alpha-filled MI6, but he can’t leave. He has something to prove. One day he’s going to shove everyone’s stupid preconceived notions of Omegas up their asses and he’s going to make them bloody well like it. See how they feel about being on the receiving end. 

It’s barely noon. He’s in a café, watching the telly, waiting for an agent to show up. The news reporter babbles about some Mandarin. Then the screen flashes and Tony Stark appears, rattling off his address and inviting the Mandarin to come find him. An instinctual part of David demands that he go there now. He stands and starts walking without realizing it. As his hand touches the cold metal door he comes to his senses. He curses and quashes the feelings created by his biology and returns to his table. 

He doesn’t look at the telly anymore. The agent appears on time and David passes him a suitcase that contains a gun and some ridiculous exploding pen prototype. The agent, blond and handsome in a rugged way, smiles his thanks and turns to leave. 006, if David remembers correctly. He’s one of the few decent Alphas that David knows. He has never made any untoward remarks or unwanted advances. Nothing like Bond, whose pheromones make it blatantly clear he wouldn’t mind meeting David between the sheets.

006 is on his way out the door when the café becomes dead silent. A second later someone turns the sound to the telly on. David, like everyone else, turns to watch the screen. Not that he needs to. The sudden jolt of _fearhurtangershockregret_ that runs through him tells him everything important. The screen just fills in the blanks. 

Tony Stark’s home is being decimated. Tony Stark is inside. 

David quakes under the torrent of overwhelming feelings that Stark is unknowingly transmitting. On the screen Tony Stark falls into the water. David gasps involuntarily, desperate for oxygen even though he’s not the one drowning. His knuckles turn white from the death grip he has on the table. He tells himself that he’s not drowning, that there is air in his lungs, but his body refuses to listen. But even as his vision goes black at the edges, even as he watches his Alpha die, he feels a bitter relief because all this means he’ll finally be free. 

He’ll no longer have to duck corners and hide inside whenever Tony Stark is in London, which is more often than one would think. He’ll no longer feel things he shouldn’t and doesn’t want to feel. The letters on his ribs will become something terribly twisted and ugly, unreadable, and he’ll no longer have to fear becoming some rich, playboy Alpha’s property. He'll become his own person.

It’s not that David wants Stark to die. No, everything in him screams against it, including his morals, but intellectually and objectively speaking he knows it wouldn't be a bad thing. If they were fully bonded, David would probably die with him, but as things are he’ll probably pass out for a bit then recover.

Right when he’s on the brink of losing consciousness a bright figure shoots out of the water on the telly and he can breathe again. As a stupid amount of relief - tinged with a bit of regret that he hates himself for feeling - rushes through him he glances around the café to see if anyone had noticed that he'd been hyperventilating. It seems everyone was too busy staring at the screen to notice. David sighs in relief. 

006, still one foot out the door, turns to look at him. David’s blood runs cold.

_He knows._

David braces himself for the incoming questions, the imminent lecture, and the heap of accusations that 006 could make. But they never come. 006 merely tilts his head, appraises him, and flashes a quick “ok?” with his free hand. David nods and 006 turns away and leaves. Just like that. It’s all far too easy, but as exhausted as he is from Stark’s ordeal, he can’t bring himself to care.

He flags down a cab and calls in to MI6, claiming he’s sick. (Omegas always get sick, the weak little things. Especially the unbonded ones; they don’t have an Alpha implanting them with seed and making them strong.) He hates to perpetuate the stereotype, but knowing Stark, the next twenty-four hours and then some are going to leave David bedridden from panic attacks, pain, and god knows else what.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s both better and worse than he'd expected. There’s a lack of pain, but he’s cold down to the bone. He turns the thermostat up and huddles under his blankets, but to no avail. His teeth continue to chatter and his shivering doesn’t stop. What the hell is Tony doing? Taking a dip in the ocean? Prancing around in the snow naked? 

There are no panic attacks or cardiac arrests, but he’s anxious and worried (Stark’s feelings, not his), so despite how tired he is he can’t calm down long enough to fall asleep. When a door creaks he almost jumps out of his skin. He tells himself it’s probably the air current; Stark’s feelings are influencing his thoughts too much. He takes a deep breath and tells his heart to calm the heck down and listen to him instead of Stark for once. David closes his eyes in a futile attempt to sleep. Not for the first time, he wishes his talents lay in genetics or biochemisty instead of computers. Maybe then he could drug himself into a peaceful oblivion.

“David?” A voice calls out. From inside his flat. 

He jolts in surprise, head hitting the headboard. He winces and fumbles for his glasses while reaching for the gun hidden in his dresser. (Omegas aren’t allowed to have guns. Too easily spooked and likely to accidentally shoot themselves or an innocent Alpha, the lawmakers had said. David doesn't believe innocent Alphas exist.)

By the time his hand makes contact with the cold metal it’s too late. The door to his room is opening and he’s still trying to find purchase, panic and cold making his fingers tremble. 

“David? Are you okay?” A head pokes into view. It’s 006. Still, David keeps his hand on the gun. After all, the man just broke into his house and got past his security systems.

“Look, I can see you and I know you’re capable of speech.” 006 says wryly. 

“Why are you here?” David asks, his chattering teeth impeding his speech, the world spinning.

006 rushes at him and David whips the gun out and trains it on 006 before the man can attack him. His hands quiver, but he’s sure he can still get a shot off and make it hurt. 006 backs off immediately, hands up in the air in surrender.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I was rushing to catch you, not hurt you. You look like you're about to fall over and hit your head on your drawers. Christ, your skin is almost blue. Please, let me help you.”

David wishes 006 were telling the truth, because truthfully? David is worn to the bone and outright miserable. 

“Look, I know you hate Alphas, but I’m not an Alpha,” 006 placates.

What? “You’re lying.” There’s no way the man in front of him isn’t an Alpha. He’s a poster boy for Alphas, the most Alpha of them all. There’s no way he’s an Omega, not as a Double-O. He wouldn't be able to hold up more than a minute in a fight. Omegas’ pain tolerances are far too low, not even half of that of an Alpha’s. The only good thing about being an Omega are that Omegas have stronger senses of smell. They also have sharper teeth, but David suspects that's just because the world decided to be a bitch and thought: hey, let’s give Alphas duller teeth so the bonding bite will hurt more! (Omegas never bite their Alphas; it’s practically blasphemy. Their razor sharp canines never really serve any identifiable purpose other than making apples easier to eat.)

“Do you want me to drop my pants and prove it? I’d rather not, but I will.”

“But everyone thinks you’re an Alpha.” David says, lowering the gun. It’s not the offer to drop trou that has David lowering his guard, but the hint of reluctance. Alphas are never reluctant to show off their knot, at least not to Omegas, whose genitals are guaranteed to be smaller. They'd also never deny their Alpha status. Plus, the man doesn’t smell like he’s lying. Double-O’s know how to lie without Omegas being able to smell it, but David’s senses are better than most. (The world had decided to make him extra Omega for some reason. His pain tolerance is shite, which is why Stark’s overflow of feelings always cripple him, but his sense of smell almost makes up for it. He'd smelt Bond's lie when Bond had told him he still had spots.)

“And everyone thinks you’re widowed. Although, that's mostly because they can't come up with any other reason why you're so bristly. The idjits. Here, let’s get you into the bath, you look like you’re about to get frostbite.” 006 gently pries the gun from his hand and sets it back in the drawer from whence it came. 006 offers him a hand and he takes it, thinking that 006 isn’t too bad after all.

Then 006 scoops him off his feet and carries him to the adjoining bathroom. “I can walk on my own,” David protests, huffy. They both know it’s token resistance though; he instinctively curls into 006 for warmth. 006, like a good man, doesn’t comment and merely hums in reply as he plugs the drain to David’s shower tub. 

“Need help getting undressed?” He asks, kindly setting David down. 

David stiffens immediately and 006 steps away waving his hands in front of him. “No no, not like that. I mean, sorry. I’ll just uh, go get you something to eat." He hurries out of the room and David has to restrain himself from laughing.

David waits for the click of the door to start stripping. In the shower. With the curtains closed. He doesn’t bother locking the door, 006 would get through it in an instant anyways. What is he doing trusting 006 and allowing the man to stay in his home? But the agent is right: the hot water helps to ease his shivering. He still feels cold, but it’s in the back burner now, almost like an afterthought. He stares at the rising water line, wondering what he's doing.

A knock on the door brings him out of his thoughts and he realizes that the tub is going to overflow soon. He shuts off the water.

“Since you’ll probably be in there for the indeterminable future, can I come in? I bring peace offerings. I promise not to look or touch, unless you’re drowning or something. If I do, you can tell everyone that I’m a Beta,” 006 half yells from the other side of the door.

What? 006 is a Beta? David sinks into the water until only his head is above water. “You can come in.” Logically it makes sense - if 006 isn’t an Alpha or an Omega then he can only be a Beta - but it’s still hard to wrap his head around. Betas are rare and hard to find, mostly because they don’t tend to look much different from an Alpha or Omega. When clothed, they’re only identifiable by their scent, which tends to be slightly different. Wait...

006 opens the door and enters and David sniffs the air. Yup, 006 smells like pure Alpha. David hadn't thought about it earlier, too busy shivering and trying to sniff out lies. When 006 sets the tray on the edge of the tub David grasps his arm with both hands. He’s ready to break 006’s wrist in case things go south. He can’t win a fair fight against the agent, but with a handicap he has a chance. “You smell like Alpha. Explain.”

006 for his part, seems unperturbed. He leans his back against the tub, careful to not disturb the tray. It puts him in an extremely vulnerable position, his arm stretched behind his back. “It’s a long story and this position will probably get uncomfortable really fast. Can I trade you a knife for my arm?” David says nothing and 006 sighs. “Thought so.

I was born an Omega, with a twisted mess of lines in my skin above my heart. It was unheard of, it still is, to be marked an Omega at birth, to a dead mate at that, but there I was. I’d show you proof, but it’s gone. My parents bribed doctors with obscene amounts of hush money and had them graft the skin. They decided I would grow up an Alpha, as if the whole incident never happened. My parents had amazing connections and money; they found a genius who could make pills that would fool my body’s chemistry and genetics. He’s dead now, but I have a lifetime supply of little white capsules that make my scent and body that of an Alpha’s.” Alec laughs, bitter and piercing. David smells the salty sea-like scent that he knows means sadness. “They killed him when they found out he could give me everything but a knot and couldn't turn me into a knothead. Sure, sometimes my heart is that of an Alpha’s: protect, possess, and hide my Omega from the world. But I don’t have an Omega. I am the bloody Omega. My thoughts aren’t that of an Alpha’s. I'm always wondering: where is my Alpha? I need to find him. I want to make him happy. 

Everyone thinks I’m an Alpha. I’m not even close. I’m not really anything, so I just identify myself as a Beta.” 

He smells like cotton candy sincerity, and a bit bitter, as if someone used coffee flavoring. David releases his hold on Alec’s wrist and instead reaches for the tray. The earl gray is no longer hot, but it’s delicious, better than when he brews it himself. He pushes the tray towards 006, not touching the biscuits. “I’m sorry. Why are you telling me all this?”

“So we’re even. I know your secret. Now you know mine. Besides, I like you. Not in sexual sense though, don’t worry. My Omega just wants to cuddle up with you and my Alpha wants to growl at anyone who looks at you wrong.”

David almost drops his cup in surprise. What? "Why? Aside from my size, I’m hardly the ideal Omega, or anything for that matter.”

“I like that. I like the way you glare at the Alpha agents when they come back without their equipment, the way you try to not be the amazing Omega you are - don't try to deny it, I've seen the way you get angry when people don't acknowledge how brilliant you are - and the way you pick fights as if the whole world is against you. But it isn’t, not completely.”

David stares at his now empty cup. “Thank you. I mean it. For trusting me. For the tea. Your name is Alec, correct?”

“Ya, but how did you know that? I’m not like Bond, telling everyone my name, and my files are classified.” Alec sounds genuinely confused. It’s a bit adorable, really. David can see how he really is a little bit Omega.

David hums happily. “How did you know where I live?” He hints.

“Ah, you’re a clever boy aren’t you?” David smiles. The stupid, silly Omega in him is practically rolling around in happiness at the praise. It’s not his Alpha, not even an Alpha, but the Omega is so starved for praise that it doesn’t care. Usually, David would hate himself for reacting this way, but he figures that it’s okay since Alec is a Beta and won’t ever want to knot him or something like that. “Speaking of clever boys, is your Alpha still being an idiot?”

To David’s surprise, he’s no longer feeling cold or anxious. He hadn’t even realized until Alec had asked. “He's not my anything. It seems I’m fine now. Get out while I get dressed?” 

“Sure thing.” Alec takes the tray and empty tea cup and leaves. 

Then David realizes he doesn’t have any clean clothes. As if sensing his thoughts, Alec yells, “Don’t worry! I’m in the kitchen!”

David towels off and once he’s dressed he opens the bedroom door and Alec comes in. David looks at him, really looks at him, for the first time. Now that he knows that Alec is a Beta, his behavior actually makes sense. Of course, it also means that the number of decent Alphas that David knows in MI6 is back to being zero, but that’s okay. It's expected.

Wait, MI6…”What happened to your mission?” David asks Alec. The man should be on a plane to Egypt by now.

Alec grins. “And here I thought you were such a clever boy.” Alec hands him his laptop. He must have grabbed it off the living room table earlier. “C’mon, get to it. Show me what you’ve got. I recall you once telling Bond that you could do more damage in your pajamas than he could a year in the field.”

“And I wasn’t lying.” David grins, booting up his laptop. It’s a rush, having someone to show off to, someone who’ll listen. It could all be a trick, some sick game of 'mess with the Omega,' but at least he’ll enjoy it while it lasts.


	3. Chapter 3

Almost two years have passed. Stark is still alive and still putting him through torture, but Alec’s presence has helped immensely. David is now R. Not quite Q, but close. The other Alphas pick on him less, terrified of Alec's wrath. (If only they knew that Alec is a Beta, something that they’d consider inferior.) They acknowledge David's skill, but still don’t respect him for shite, even if they’re less hostile and open about it. David doesn’t mind too much; it gives him an excuse to break their things. Alec helps him come up with new ideas sometimes. Many an Alpha has found themselves cut off from sex, their Omegas too busy satisfying themselves with a custom knotting toy that was mysteriously delivered to their homes. (Alec and Q almost leave MI6 to open a sex toy shop.)

David has long ago stopped being suspicious of Alec’s intentions. He’s now trying to make it up to Alec, not that Alec ever held it against him. He does things that he knows make Alec’s Alpha side happy; sometimes he acts like a silly pet, sometimes he leans on Alec for support even when it’s unnecessary, and he lets some of Alec’s overprotective behavior and growling slide. It bothers him less than he thought it would. Even though he pretends to be a good, well, half-decent Omega for Alec, he’s still the same as ever. He’s still brilliant. He still dislikes Alphas. Try as Alec might, David will never get along with Bond, who wears Alpha swagger like a Hugo Boss original.

The name branded on his ribs is as insistent as ever. He ignores it the best he can, but it’s getting harder. He gets mind-splitting headaches and it feels like he goes through his days with cotton wool filling his head. He gets tired just bloody existing. The commute to work is murder. Medical tells him it’s the suppressants. He dreads every pill now, the same pills he used to love. He flinches every time he swallows.

Alec is currently helping him move into his new MI6 flat, his reward for becoming R. It’s a nice enough flat, but its best feature is that it’s close to MI6 and shortens his commute by over 20 minutes, meaning he won’t be ready to collapse the minute he arrives at his desk. It’s unusually hot for spring and as a result, Alec is shirtless. It is _glorious_. David sprawls on the couch and admires the agent's gorgeous back muscles. If Alec was his Alpha, David probably wouldn’t mind being an Omega or even going into heat. 

“Hey David?” Alec isn’t even a bit out of breath. David is more out of breath than Alec, and he’s not the one hauling a box with over a hundred pounds worth of tech in it. Then again, David’s out of breath for a different reason.

“Hmm?”

“How come you don’t use any Starktech? Isn’t that stuff like the best? And lighter than whatever you have me hauling? Everyone owns at least one thing that’s Starktech. Hell, I have a Stark bottle opener. Do you really hate him that much?”

“Please. The tech I make for myself is far better than anything that he churns out on the market.” He sounds defensive, even to his own ears. “I don’t hate him. You know I just dislike Alphas.”

“You like me just fine, and I'm part Alpha. I know Alphas aren’t always the greatest bunch, but why do you hate them so much that you refuse to go through even one heat? It’s hell on your body. How long do you think you have until your headaches get worse? Until you become the sick, weakly Omega you hate? I know that the real reason you’re lying on the couch instead of helping me is because you’re feeling sick, not because you want to cater to my feelings.”

“Well what can I do Alec? Tell me. If I stop taking them I go into heat and become vulnerable to any freaking Alpha. Do you know how many Alphas would love to show me my place? Would you like me to call Stark up and tell him that his omega needs his knot, and only his knot okay, thanks, bye? And don’t you dare suggest Bond. I can’t just use a toy either because a knot is nothing without the stupid pheromones behind it.”

Alec sets the box down, walks over to David, and kneels next to the couch so they’re face to face. He runs a hand through David’s hair. “I could do it for you. I could get you through it. I have the pheromones you need, right? And we still have the toy that we’ve been meaning to give to the Omega of the jerk at the front desk who called you a pansy the other day. Only if you want to though. I mean I know I’m just a Beta.” 

David swallows then scents the air. Cotton candy, like the first time they met. It’s the scent he always thinks of when Alec comes to mind. It’s sweet, soft, sincerity, pure as it gets. No ulterior motives. The only other scent is caramel, sickeningly sweet and clinging to his throat, fear of rejection. A minute ago he’d thought he wouldn’t mind going into heat if it was Alec, but now he’s terrified. He recalls every story about a terrible first heat that he’s ever been told, the way his skin crawls at even the thought of sex. He takes a deep breath. It's Alec. Alec is safe, he wants this, and to reject Alec would break both their hearts. He can do this. First, though, he needs to make sure that Alec knows something. “You’re not _just_ a Beta. You’re…everything, everything good. You’re what’s good about Omegas and what’s good about Alphas and it makes you amazing. You’re better than both of them combined." Not once has David ever thought less of Alec for being a Beta. He loves that Alec is as strong as any other Alpha, if not stronger, but gentle and sweet as an Omega. "I can do it, if it’s you.“

Alec pulls him off the couch and into his lap, hugging him so tightly it almost hurts. Almost, but not quite, because Alec is always ridiculously careful with his strength around David. “Thank you David. Thank god. I was worried you’d say no, that you’d hate me, but I had to offer. Watching you slowly waste away like this has been killing me David. My Alpha, it…”

“That explains the goriness of your last mission,” he replies because what else can he say?

“Ya, I guess it does.” Alec chuckles. "But they deserved it."

“I’m sorry,” David whispers, burying his face in the fabric of Alec’s shirt. “I didn’t mean make you feel helpless or hurt you. This won’t change things between us, will it?”

“It’s fine, pet. I promise it won’t change anything between us aside from you being healthier and being able to move your tech yourself. I’ll make sure it doesn’t go badly, okay? Leave the worrying to me.”

David nods. 

“Just…tell me what they did to hurt you so many years ago? I need to know so I don’t hurt you too. Please.” Alec’s scent shifts to chocolate as he speaks. Chocolate is for apologies, regret, and hesitancy. It's for fragile hope for undeserved things. Chocolate is a beggar’s scent, the mark of someone who has done something wrong and wants forgiveness or a second chance. It’s wrong on Alec.

“Promise you won’t think less of me?” David asks, dreading what’s coming. But he owes it, and more, to Alec.

“I promise.” Alec stops hugging Q for a second so he can present Q with a pinky. It’s silly and ridiculous, but Q extends his own pinky and wraps it around Alec’s anyways. They shake.

“You can already guess most of it, I think. I was such a clever boy; everyone thought I was so brilliant. I was eager to meet their expectations, surpass them.” David sighs, reminiscing. He turns so Alec is hugging him from behind and can’t see his face. “I’d been so naïve, so obviously Omega, even before my seventeenth birthday when Stark’s name showed up. I showed off needlessly, wanting praise so badly.

I started college at fifteen, practically unheard of at Oxford, let alone for an Omega. I was so happy. My professors were brilliant, the Omegas cooed over me, and the Alphas treated me nicely. My best friends had all been Alphas. I helped them with their studies, so eager for their praise and friendship.” David pauses, the next part is harder to admit. It’s a secret he’s always kept to himself. _Such a good Omega, you’ll never tell on us. You liked it, David. Begged for it even._

To his dismay his eyes start to water. There’s no way Alec can see, but Alec begins to pet him soothingly as if he can sense David’s distress.

His voice chokes when he speaks. “They weren’t very good friends. Turns out they actually hated me and only tolerated me because I helped them pass their classes. At the end of first semester, we got a B+ on a group project that I’d done alone. I'd offered, promised them an A.” David shudders and struggles to breathe through the hiccups and tears. Alec bends forward and kisses his forehead and it helps, but not really.

“One of them, John, he said, ‘God, I knew an Omega like you would be worthless. I don’t know why we kept you around.’ Then Andrew, I thought he was going to defend me. He'd always been sweet to me, bringing me tea, buying me sweets, that sort of thing. He pulled me towards him, hugged me. He said, ‘I do. He’s such a pretty, eager thing. Loves to please. I bet he’d love a chance to make it up to us.’ Then Charles told me exactly how I could do that." David can no longer remember Charles' exact words, just the expression on his face. "Aldrene looked at me the whole time. His eyes were filled with disappointment and I just…I wanted them to like me. I was terrified that they'd hate me, wouldn't want me anymore.”

“Four of them?” Alec gasps, his grip on David tightening even though it’s too late to protect him from his own idiocy. 

David nods and presses closer to Alec, the steady heat and familiar contours his friend reminding him that he’s safe. “I apologized, promised to do better next time. But they weren't satisfied. They told me that they'd forgive me if I gave each of them a kiss. When I did their gazes changed, and they went from angry and disapproving to happy and pleased. They looked at me like I was beautiful. I liked it. Their hands started to wander, they took off my clothes. They asked if I wanted them to stop, if I wanted to leave. I didn’t say anything. I could have. I should have.

I never screamed. I never begged for them to stop. I never said no. It wasn't terrible at first, but it wasn't good either, like I'd thought it would be. They told me it would get better once I got used to it. It didn't. I don't know if it's because I didn't get used to it or because -" David can't finish the sentence, doesn't know how to. He takes a shaky breath, and decides to skip it because that's the only way he could possibly finish telling this story. "They took me again and again. I just wanted it to be over, but they took their time. I kissed back, I did what was expected of me hoping to end it faster, but I never said anything. It wasn’t rape. Afterwards, they left me bleeding. They told me it was all I was good for, that I wanted it. I never protested. They told everybody I was a slut, that I loved it. Everyone believed them, even the professors. Part of me believed them. I couldn’t contradict them. It wasn’t rape. After all, I never said no. I took it like a good little Omega slut and I didn’t say anything. After that, everyone looked at me like-“

“Shhh. It’s okay now. I’m sorry pet. I should’ve been there, I should have –“ The smell of chocolate is nauseating, Alec’s voice is as wrecked as his own, but he's babbling not, can't stop himself.

“It was my fault. I’m not even a victim. I want to make myself the victim, but I can’t. I wanted it at the beginning. I could have said no at any point. I could have been stronger, not cared what they thought of me. If I hadn’t been so damned needy for attention, if I hadn’t been such the stereotypical Omega that I let society make me into-“

Alec spins him around and cuts him off with a kiss. David freezes in surprise. “S-sorry I didn’t mean to,” Alec apologizes, backing off and letting go of him. “I, I just…I can’t stand hearing you say it’s your fault. It wasn’t your fault. You're not a slut. Sorry I won’t kiss you a-”

Alec doesn’t hate him. Alec isn’t disgusted. Alec says it’s not his fault. David leans forward and kisses Alec, elation giving him blind courage. Alec doesn’t deserve to smell like chocolate; David will erase it from him. This time it’s Alec who freezes. The taste of chocolate becomes a mix of berries. David doesn’t know what that means, but it’s pleasant and makes him feel light and bubbly inside, like he’s being purified. _It wasn’t my fault. I'm not a slut. I'm not dirty,_ he thinks to himself. For the first time ever, he thinks he could someday believe it. Because Alec believes it. Confidence fills him. He feels lightheaded, happy. 

“Why did you just…?” Alec asks, head tilted in confusion. David smiles. Alec’s Omega traits are too adorable for him not to.

“You smelled overwhelmingly like chocolate. It was making me sick. Kissing you was the fastest way to make it go away. You smell like berries now. It's nice. For future reference, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t freak out afterwards and actually kissed back. After all, in a few days we’ll be doing something much more intimate. Don’t tell me you’re going shy on me now?” It’s the closest David will ever come to saying, “because I like kissing you.”

“You know you’re worth ten of any Alpha, right?” Alec asks with a grin that would put the Cheshire Cat to shame.

“Mhm. But I only want to be worthy of a certain Beta,” he replies jokingly. Then he realizes it’s true. Over the past two years Alec has practically become his world. If Alec were to leave him…

David vows to make sure that never happens and kisses Alec once more to erase the thought. 

This time, Alec doesn’t freeze. This time, the kiss tastes like cotton candy.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve has long ago accepted the fact that he doesn’t have someone meant for him. As a child he was obviously an Omega. He was weak, sickly, and a do-gooder. But a name never materialized on his skin. There was only one explanation for it: he was too much a failure to deserve a mate. What Alpha would want an Omega like him?

The super soldier serum turned him into an Alpha physically, but he was still part Omega inside. Howard had told him that was what made him so great, that that’s why he was chosen. They’d needed an Omega, one that nobody would miss, one without a mate. Peggy had phrased it differently, said that he was chosen because he was the most courageous Omega they’d ever seen, but Steve knows what she had really meant. 

He likes being an Alpha, likes having the power to help people. But he wasn’t born an Alpha; there’s no Omega out there with his name on their skin. Even if there was, he or she would be long dead. Tony once pointed out that he has no way of being sure, that his soul mate might be out there somewhere. Steve had bitterly replied, “Then why hasn’t he or she contacted me? I’m not exactly a hard man to fine. Let’s face it. I don’t have one, he or she is dead, or plain doesn’t want me. Not exactly exciting prospects Stark.” 

He tries not to let the soul mate issue bother him. Even if he had an Omega, he doesn’t think it’d work out between them. He’s still part Omega. He just has an Alpha’s body.

Tony tells him that people like him, people who aren’t quite Alphas and aren’t quite Omegas, are called Betas now. There aren’t many of them, but Steve isn’t alone.

Once, Steve had asked Tony what happens to Betas, if they ever find love, how it works, or if they ended up alone. Tony had shrugged and replied that he’d never thought about it. In turn, they’d asked Jarvis, who’d rattled off headlines and statistics that had left both of them shaken and feeling sick. 

Since that day he’s always been careful to act extra Alpha. If the public ever found out that he’s actually a Beta the Avengers Initiative would be buried by bad publicity and be forced to disband. The others don’t deserve to have their reputations ruined just because of him. He doesn’t understand why it has to be this way. He just knows that it sucks. At least Omegas in this century are treated better than they were in the last. They have just as many rights as Alphas do. In America, that is. 

Steve has accepted everything, but just because he welcomes his fate with open arms doesn’t mean it doesn’t dig into his skin with razor sharp claws and leave him bleeding out. He just wants a soul mate, but Betas don’t get soul mates. Betas don’t just get the short end of the stick. They get stabbed by it and hung to dry.

\-------

Once, Steve had told Tony, “Let’s face it. I don’t have one, he or she is dead, or plain doesn’t want me. Not exactly exciting prospects Stark.” Tony drank himself stupid that night. Well, not stupid; no amount of alcohol could ever turn him stupid. He still has the robot that he’d blackout engineered that night. It shoots at anything that moves. He’s not sure how he’d survived that night. When he’d woken up there had been bullets everywhere. He keeps the robot for posterity. Not that he’ll ever have children, because Steve isn’t the only one who has that particular problem.

Well, Tony’s problem isn’t exactly the same but it’s close. Odds are Tony's Omega is alive and well and just doesn’t want him. These days, when an unbonded Omega dies the name of his or her soul mate is listed on an international database. Alphas are automatically notified when someone with their name on their skin has died. Tony has never gotten a notification. It’s possible that maybe his Omega died in such a gruesome way that Tony's name couldn’t be identified on his or her dead body, but Omegas rarely die in such ways.

Tony has been alive in this century longer than Steve, pretty much everybody has heard of him, and he once told a reporter his home address on international television. There’s no way his Omega doesn’t know who he is or how to reach him. Unlike Steve, Tony knows with 99% certainty that the reason he doesn’t have a soul mate isn’t because of biology or science, but because his soul mate doesn’t want him. Hell, his soul mate hasn’t even touched anything Stark related that’s been released in the past four years. If he or she had, Stark would know. Everything Stark Industries has manufactured in the past four years has a small scanner on it. The scanner is designed to detect the chemicals of a soul mark, the letters that appear on Omegas’ bodies and tell them who their Alphas are. The minute someone touches something Starkian, the scanner activates and scans the user. If it detects a spread of chemicals that looks anything remotely like any variation of Tony’s name, Tony is sent an image of it as well as a set of coordinates. (The board of directors doesn’t know about this. Nobody does. Except for Jarvis, who’d told him it was a bad idea.)

His soul mate hates him and his tech. Tony hasn’t even met his soul mate and he or she already hates him. 

Everyone assumes that the reason he’s unbonded is because his Omega is dead or because he doesn’t want to bond. He never corrects them. At least, not until Steve. 

After Steve had asked him about the fate of Betas, the man had moped around for weeks, looking as if someone had just, well, told him his dreams would never come true. Every time Natasha and Clint had walked into a room together Steve had stared at them with intense longing, jealousy, and sadness in his eyes.

Eventually, Tony couldn’t take it anymore. Steve had been making the entire tower gloomy. So Tony had walked up to him, slapped him on the back, handed him a beer and said, “Don’t worry. My Omega doesn’t want me either.”

God, had Steve looked confused. For a man that had adapted to a seventy-year time skip in a heartbeat, he sure was slow sometimes. It took him about four minutes and another beer to figure it out. They’ve been best friends ever since. Tony doesn’t know how it worked out that way, but he doesn’t question it.

If his Omega doesn’t want him, that sucks. If he sometimes dreams about having a soul mate and occasionally stops drinking coffee so he can dream about his soul mate even more, well, nobody has to know. His soul mate might hate him, but he got Steve as a best friend in return so he doesn’t really have any complaints. It’s not a bad deal; he’ll live.

Tony doesn’t have a soul mate, but he has Steve, and that’s close enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q goes into his first heat. (This is not graphic sex. Warning, there is minor mention of blood.)

He doesn’t know what the weather outside is like. He doesn’t care. It’s been a week since he has stopped taking his suppressants and they’re naked in Alec’s bedroom.

It feels like dragons. It’s fire in his belly and greed, animal instinct and claws ripping skin in order to break free. “Heat” is not a strong enough word to describe the overflow of hot need that washes over him and sweeps him up in its currents. He feels like he’s breathing brimstone. The sheets on Alec’s bed are silk but they feel like brambles against his skin. 

“Alec,” he whimpers. This had been such a stupid idea. 

“Shhh, it’s going to be alright,” Alec coos, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. David would deck him if he wasn’t on all fours. “You’re almost there.”

David grits his teeth. “You mean this is still the fucking pre-heat?” The slick between his thighs would beg to differ.

“Yup!”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because you’re not begging to be knotted yet. That, and you’re still using full sentences,” Alec quips and David turns to bite his arm off, blasphemy or no. He’s half a second away from sinking his teeth in and drawing blood when Alec pulls his arm away. “Jesus, you’re scary when you’re in heat. It’s probably a good thing you never sought out Stark. Out of all the alien invasions and terrorist attacks you’d probably be the one thing to end him.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” David grunts, voice muffled by the pillow that he’s had to settle for shredding with his teeth since Alec isn't being forthcoming.

Alec watches stuffing fly. “Wow,” he whistles. “You just made the term pillow biter a whole lot less endearing.”

“That’s not the only thing that I’ll be making less endearing if you don’t hand me the fucking toy this minute.” David growls. Alec suddenly shifts and David feels the cheeks of his arse being spread. A finger makes its way into him, aided by the plentiful heat slick. David opens his mouth to yell at Alec for not giving him any warning but all that comes out is a needy, simpering, whimper. God, what being in heat has reduced him to.

His hips shift backward without his consent, trying to take more of Alec in. “Hm, I think you’re ready now,” Alec says, before inserting another finger without warning. David yelps and buries his face in the remains of the pillow he’d shredded so Alec can’t see the blush that’s creeping its way onto his cheeks.

He wriggles his arse, trying to get used to the feeling of being filled. It’s strange; it’s not blindingly pleasurable like he hears it’s supposed to be, but it’s not unpleasant.

Alec grabs his hip with his free hand and pulls him backwards. “I don’t see why I should be the one doing all the work here.” David vows to kill him after this is over, but can’t stop himself from rutting against Alec’s hand. “Good boy, but I’m not entirely convinced you want it. Try harder, hm?” Alec accentuates his point by slapping the Omega once on each butt cheek. Alec is enjoying this far too much.

David growls and something strange surges through him, like the dragons have broken their leashes and the claws have finally come free. He loses control. David pulls off of Alec’s fingers and, before the other man can react, he jumps on him and sinks his teeth into the junction between his neck and shoulder. He breaks skin easily, though his head is jerked is back before he fully sink his teeth in. 

\-------

Alec reacts on instinct, flipping them so he's now on top and restraining David's wrists above his hand in a single, fluid motion. He gives David's little demon teeth a wide berth even though the Omega has stilled under him. “Holy shit David, what was that for?”

David blinks up at him and _mewls_. Sweetly. As if he didn’t just try to take a chunk out of Alec’s shoulder. What the ever loving fuck? Alec has heard of Omegas acting strangely during heat, but nothing like this.

“David, you in there?” The Omega opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out in reply. His eyes are glazed over and red-rimmed. He’s staring at the blood that’s flowing out of the two neat, gaping, holes he’d made in Alec’s shoulder with his canines. David mewls again and looks up at Alec beseechingly. Well then.

Alec sighs. He hadn’t been expecting this. He’d thought that David would get off with the toy, he’d get off watching him so David's body would get the pheromones it needed, and bam, David’s first heat would be done. Of course David, being David - beautiful, complicated, screwed up all the way to Sunday - wouldn't make it that easy. Now what is Alec supposed to do? He thinks for a long moment and David starts to squirm under him, impatient. The Omega is practically acting like an brainless animal, flying on hormones and instinct. 

“Okay, I’m going to let go of your hands. You’re going to keep them there. You’re going to be a good Omega for me and not move. Only good Omegas get rewards, understand?” Alec commands, trying to infuse Alpha authority into his words. To his relief, David nods eagerly.

Alec swipes at the blood running down his torso with an index finger and holds it out to his friend, inwardly sighing. It’s a good thing Medical always tests him so he knows he’s clean. “This is what you wanted, right?” David nods then laps at it eagerly, not stopping even when all the blood is gone. Alec isn’t sure if it’s cute and endearing, weird, or scary as hell. He can’t wait to see David’s reaction when this is over and he's himself again.

“Okay, now that you’re fed, I bet you want a nice, big knot.” Alec tries. David nods eagerly and presses up against him, nuzzling the non-bleeding side of his neck. His arse bumps against Alec’s cock in his fumbling attempt to get what he wants.

“No. That’s not what you want.” Alec grabs the sex toy behind him and shows it to David. “This is what you want.” The Omega tilts his head in confusion, completely uncomprehending. Alec kisses his forehead then shoves him off his lap. “I’ll show you.” He presses the head of the toy against David’s entrance and pushes it in slowly so David can get used to it. “See? Good right?” The rocking of David’s hips is all the answer he needs.

After that, everything goes smoothly. Sort of. Near the end of it Alec gets kind of worried that the battery is going to run out because it wasn’t made for such long-term use, but David passes out before it does. Alec almost passes after him. It takes him almost half an hour to muster up the energy to clean the both of them up and change the wrecked sheets. He collapses back onto the bed the moment he's done, barely managing to stay awake long enough to grab the remains of his pillows and wrap himself around David.

David sleeps for almost a day. When he wakes up, he looks to Alec with bleary eyes and asks, “What happened? Why are you looking at me like I might attack you?”

"You would traumatize me then forget all about it." Alec grins, handing him a granola bar and a water bottle and proceeding to tell him everything. Well, almost everything. He leaves one tiny piece out. By the time he’s done David looks horrified.

“So, you’re telling me that when I went into heat, I turned into a bloodthirsty, mewling, animal? And then proceeded to hump a piece of metal and plastic for six hours? I _begged_ you to come in me?” David’s tone screams disbelief.

“Yup, I have the scars to prove it and everything.” Alec tugs the collar of his shirt to the side and so David can see the two puncture wounds at the base of his neck. “You can check the battery life on the toy if you still don’t believe me.”

David winces. “Maybe I have some Alpha in me after all?"

"I wouldn't doubt it if you did." Alec says with a dry grin.

David grins sheepishly. "Sorry, Alec. Thanks for sticking with me and making sure I got through my heat okay. How can I make it up to you?”

“Well I’d appreciate it if we could fuck without the blood and vicious biting. A distinct lack of batteries would be nice too.”

“I can do that. Can’t promise you what I’ll be like when I’m in heat, apparently, but we can do that.” David tilts his head and sniffs the air. “You smell different.”

“How so?”

“Like you’re mine, a little bit. Does that bother you?”

“Not really. Kind of to be expected when I just got you through your heat, isn’t it? So…”

“So.”

"So."

"Ya?"

“Now would be good?”

“Uh huh. Hey Alec, I’ve been meaning to ask…”

“Hm?”

“Why the hell is my jaw sore?”


	6. Chapter 6

Tony is lounging on the couch with Steve, watching Suits, when suddenly, a current of desire shoots through him. What the hell? Sure, the Omega, Mike Ross, is cute and all, but seriously dick, are you really doing this? Steve is sitting right there, what are you thinking?

Steve turns and looks at him “Are you okay? Your face is a bit flushed.”

“Ya, I’m fi-nghhhhhh,” Tony bites his lip to keep from outright moaning when he goes from zero to full in a second. What the hell? “Gotta go Steve, just remembered I gotta…something.” He rushes out of the room before he can completely embarrass himself in front of his best friend. He bolts to his room, ordering Jarvis to turn on complete privacy, and gets off purely to the sensations that bombard him. He even pops his knot like some randy teenager. Several times, because the sensations last for over an hour. 

When it finally ends he takes a quick shower before burying himself in his lab and research. Nine hours later he has a lot of knowledge that he doesn’t want, and no solution to his problem. Turns out that in some soul bonds the Alpha can feel when their Omega is especially randy and their bodies react instinctively. Usually it serves to increase their pleasure, but since Tony doesn’t know who his Omega is or where the hell he is it’s kind of a problem.

He wonders why it hasn’t happened before. Is his Omega just a teenager, a nun, ugly, or formerly in a coma? After all, shouldn’t have Tony been able to feel his heats before? Why is his Omega just now getting horny for the first time? Somebody better not be touching his Omega. If someone is… Tony growls at the thought. His Omega might not want him, but that doesn’t mean he or she is any sleazeball’s for the taking. 

He hopes it’s just a one-time thing, a fluke. Even if it isn’t he can’t do anything about it. He might as well ignore it and continue on living peacefully. Emphasis on peacefully because if the soul bond is strong enough for him to feel his Omega’s lust, then apparently there’s a high chance that when Tony gets hurt or something, his Omega will feel it too. No wonder his Omega doesn’t want him, with all the torture he’s probably put the poor thing through over the years. He hadn’t known, but ignorance isn’t an excuse. If only his Omega would give him the chance make up for everything. He'd make his Omega so happy.

That night, he gets blackout drunk again. This time he blackout engineers what seems to be a robot kitty. Like the killer bot, he keeps it. This time though, it’s not for posterity, it’s for his Omega if he ever finds him or her. They love cute things, right? Even Pepper, the most Alpha of all Omegas, loves cute things. Even if she won’t ever admit to loving the giant stuffed bunny Tony got her, he knows she cried after it fell into the ocean. 

He goes a whole month without having to think about the depressing subject that is the sorry state of his soul bond.

The second time it happens is when he’s with the Avengers, trying to save New York. He almost crashes into a building because he’s hit by a sudden surge of blinding lust. He has to turn control of the suit over to Jarvis because he can barely focus enough to not bust his nut, let alone shoot down the giant-ass robot spider trying to take out Broadway. When it’s finally over he flies back to the tower and holes himself in his room before anyone can try to remind him that he’s supposed to go debrief. His boxer briefs are completely soaked through with pre-come and it only takes him a few strokes to bring himself to completion.

Then a month passes without incident and he thinks that he might be in the clear. That is, until he pops one out during a board meeting, surrounded by old, stuffy investors. He rushes out with some half-baked excuse, Pepper looks at him like he’s gone insane, and he jacks himself off in a public bathroom. He muffles his cries by biting his shirt and works his dick frantically, praying that nobody comes in. It’s a new low, even for him. This has to end, preferably before his Omega becomes a sex fiend and this turns into a weekly, or – Tony shudders – daily, occurrence.

He makes himself as presentable as possible, slips out the building as stealthily using his private elevator, and heads home. He takes his practically ritualistic post what-the-hell-is-my-Omega-doing shower then comes up with a plan.

“Hey Jarvis, what’s Bruce up to?” Tony asks, toweling off his hair.

“I believe he’s currently in his lab, working on something.”

“Is it dangerous or important?”

“No more than the usual.” Jarvis replies.

Perfect. Tony makes his way to the elevator then knocks on the door to Bruce’s lab. It’s not necessary, he knows the codes, heck he programmed them in, but it’s common courtesy to give a science bro a little warning. Bruce is hunched over bubbling flask that’s turning an alarming shade of yellow. He doesn’t even look up, just lifts a finger up, telling Tony to wait a moment.

Tony lets himself in. “Hey Bruce, what’re you working on?”

“Same as always. What do you need Stark?” Tony can see Bruce’s exasperation at his impatience.

“I need you to help me find my Omega.”

“What? Stark you know that’s impo-” Bruce is cut off when the flask starts bubbling over. “Crap! Stark can you hand me that-“ Stark has a flask of pre-measured manganese heptoxide in Bruce’s hand before he can even finish his sentence. “Thanks.” He pours it in and the contents of the flask settle. He watches it a second longer to make sure it’s okay before turning to Stark. “Wait, you have an Omega? Didn’t you tell us…?”

“Nah, you guys assumed and I never bothered to correct you guys. I’d rather not be known as the guy whose Omega didn’t want him.” Tony explains, trying to make his tone light and joking. He’s not sure he succeeds. He hands Bruce a tub of promethium.

“Your Omega probably has a good reason,” Bruce comforts, taking the tub and measuring out a milligram. “Sorry, I can’t help you Tony. Not when he or she doesn’t seem to want to find you, or be found. Don’t try to tell me you haven’t looked.”

“You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have a good reason,” Stark protests. 

“And what reason is that?” Bruce asks.

“Our soul bond is wonky…You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you, okay?”

“Really Stark? Would you like me to pinky swear?”

“Ya, that’d be good.”

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose, a clear sign that he’s exasperated. “I’m not pinky swearing, but I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“Right, Jarvis you recorded that? Good. Ya, so uh…every time my Omega gets horny I can feel it. Like, really, really, feel it. It started three months ago and my Omega has about the worst timing possible. I think we’re in different time zones. At least I hope we are or else my Omega has a-“

“Okay, I get it.” Bruce says, before Stark can say anything else and make this even more embarrassing for the both of them. “I can try to help you, but you know that it’s impossible. Do you know how many people have tried? There’s no known link between an Alpha’s and Omega’s chemistry, biology, genetics, or anything. Not until after they complete the bond.”

Those people weren’t us,” Stark counters. “Between you and me we’ll think of a way. Worst comes to worst we can make something that detects everyone in the world who is currently horny and use it the next time my Omega starts uh, stuff.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow, waiting for the other shoe to drop or for Tony to say he’s kidding. He sighs when he realizes that Tony is serious. “…I’ll think of something.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains dub-con sex

Another year has passed. He’s almost 23 now. Alec still has the scar from the first heat. He and Alec are still best friends; nothing more, nothing less. The fact that Alec helps him through his heats hasn’t changed anything. (Thankfully, it looks like he’ll only get them every six months. Some Omegas get them every month. Alec and Q fuck at the end of every month anyways, just to celebrate the bullet they’ve dodged. When his crazy heat hormones aren’t in the equation, it’s surprisingly enjoyable.) The only things that's really changed is that he no longer takes suppressants and feels ridiculously healthier for it. Oh, and Alec calls him Q now. Everybody does. 

He’s not sure if it’s cloudy outside or what day it is. There are no windows or clocks in the room he’s being kept in. His captors haven’t been too brutal so far, so he’s not too worried; except his heat is coming up in the next few days and when it does, he is utterly fucked. MI6 knows that he’s missing, but he’s not sure if anybody there asides from Alec cares enough to bust their butts hard enough beat the average retrieval time (nine days) and find him before his heat starts. They’ll find him, he’s no doubt of that; they know how useful he is, but a lot of them would enjoy seeing him “get some Omega beaten into him.” They probably figure that getting kidnapped could be character building for him.

He sighs. The ropes are chafing his wrists in a non-fun, non-kinky way, his ribs ache like mad because they thought cutting up Tony Stark’s name would be some sort of psychological torture for him (he’d played along so they didn’t come up with something worse), and his whole body is one giant bruise. The cement floor is cold against his sore, naked arse. His kidnappers haven’t even told him what they want. They just feed him, kick him around a bit, and then leave the room. Any longer and he’ll go bloody mad with boredom. The room is empty aside from him, the rope around his wrists, and the steel hook he’s tied to. Q has tried to pull it out. He’s utterly joyous to report that it’s firmly embedded in the concrete wall. There isn’t even a camera to stare at or anything. They have a guard outside the door, but that’s it. Just because he’s an Omega they think that he’s helpless. Well, right now he sort of is, but still.

Boy, would he love to prove them wrong. If only they gave him the chance…since when did he become someone who had to have chances given to him? They think he’s a helpless Omega, isn’t that chance enough?

Q half grins, half winces. Man, if Alec ever finds out that Q tried to escape using “Omega wiles,” he’ll never live it down. 

The door opens, which means it’s time to become simpering and pathetic. It’s Nathan, perfect. He’s younger and is nicer than any of the other guards. Nathan places a tray with some gruel and bread in front of him. Of course, he’s expected to eat like a dog since he has no hands.

Q curls in on himself, trying to make himself seem as pitiful as possible, looks at Nathan, and whimpers. 

“What is it?”

“Please don’t leave,” Q begs. “I’m so lonely and scared. What are they going to do to me? I just want to go home and be with my Alpha.” He sniffs, eyes watering.

Nathan comes closer and pets his hair. “Shhh, it’ll be okay. I’ll stay with you while you eat, okay?” He has a stupid Alpha grin on his face, the one that says he’s expecting to get laid by the end of the day. Q is half happy, half disgusted that it’s so easy.

“Thank you.” You’re so nice and sweet you big, stupid, Alpha you. “Do you think you could maybe feed me? It’s hard to eat with my hands tied and my Alpha always feeds me because I like it so much. He makes me thank him afterward, though. Not that I mind.”

“Of course, pet. Poor thing, being forced to wait while they decide what to do with you.” Nathan breaks off a piece of bread, dips it in the gruel, and feeds it to Q. “See, we originally took you because we know you’re Q, even if you insist that you’re just David. What was MI6 thinking, employing an Omega? You’re far too pretty, better suited to being on your knees.” Q sucks on Nathan’s fingers, mock fellating them in hopes that it’ll distract him enough that he’ll continue talking. Nathan withdraws his fingers and Q panics for a moment, but he’s only reaching for the bread. 

“Just eat for now; we’ll play later, okay?” He asks and Q nods, humming happily. “Such a good little Omega, I bet Tony is missing you. That threw us all for a loop. We never thought you’d be Tony’s Omega. Who do you think wants you back more? Tony or MI6?”

Of all the reasons they could have possibly kidnapped him for, they’d done it for money or favors? He could hack into any bank, launch a freaking nuke, and even steal control of a satellite from the Russians. He could kill anyone near a computer that’s on, and he got kidnapped as a ransom? What. The. Ever. Living. Fuck. Q almost bites Nathan’s fingers off and ruins his plan. He’s that pissed. He takes a deep breath to calm down.

“MI6. Tony is always too busy playing with his toys come over and play with me. The Alpha that I told you about, the one that feeds me? Tony hired him to make sure I don’t damage his property,” Q pouts, lying through his teeth. He actually has no idea exactly how much Stark would be willing to pay for his anonymous Omega's ransom. More than MI6, with its strict "we don't negotiate with terrorists" rule, that's for sure.

“Good pet. Now we know who to send the pictures to.”

“Pictures?” Q asks, tilting his head and looking at Nathan with wide eyes.

“Why do you think we hurt you the way we did. We didn’t want to, but we have to convince whoever is paying for you that we’ll hurt you if they don’t pay up. Now, I’m going to go tell my employers what you just told me. You sit here and behave, okay?” Nathan starts to get up.

“W-wait! I…I thought…” Q forces himself to blush. “You don’t want me?” He mewls. “I’ll be good for you, I promise!”

That gets Nathan’s attention. He sits back down and inches closer to Q. Their noses are almost touching. “Is that so?”

Q bobs his head enthusiastically. “Mhm! Let me show you?” 

Nathan stands up and shoves his crotch in Q’s face. “Go ahead then.”

Q almost gags. Nathan’s scent has turned to red wine, dark and greedy, lascivious and hedonistic. It brings him back seven years, to sweat and tears, to fear and misery, a dirtiness that can’t be scrubbed clean. This is nothing like what he knows with Alec. He swallows the bile that threatens to surge up his throat and begs his body to not betray him and cry.  
“I can’t undo it without my hands.” Q states, hoping that maybe it can be easy.

“That’s right, Tony was too busy with his toys to teach you these things, wasn’t he? Don’t worry, I’ll be nice this time.” Nathan unbuttons and unzips his trousers. “Since I’m being nice, you’re going to be nice too, right? Take my knot like a good boy?”

Q nods. He forces himself to lean forward, take the appendage into his mouth. He closes his eyes. _Just pretend he’s Alec. Double-O’s do this all the time. You can do it too._

“Open your eyes. Do you not like my face, pet?” Q opens his eyes as Nathan grabs his hair and tilts his head so he’s looking up at the man. Without warning, Nathan thrusts his hips forward, driving his cock down Q’s throat, forcing Q to gag. Q tries to back away but the Alpha doesn’t let up, pushing forward until his half-inflated knot passes Q’s lips. He uses Q as a rag-doll, fucking his mouth relentlessly. Q chokes and struggle for breath the whole time, trying desperately to not pass out while, at the same time hoping for the relief, of not feeling. He can’t pull off and suggest that Nathan untie him and use his ass instead, like he’d planned. 

Q’s throat is scraped raw. His jaw is stretched open for so long until it feels like it’s coming unhinged. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Nathan comes. It’s a bitter relief; the hot, wet, disgusting stream of liquid is a surprise and Q loses the contents of his stomach the same second Nathan pulls out. Q can’t even turn his head to the side in time and his lap ends up covered in the gray remains of the meal Nathan had fed him earlier. For a moment he thinks it’s over, that Nathan will leave, but no, somehow, the man is still hard.

“S-sorry sir. My ass is better, I promise. Let me make it up to you, please.” His act is hardly convincing at this point, but Nathan is too far gone to notice.

“Is that so? But how can I do that when you’re sitting on the floor like that? It doesn’t look like you want my knot at all, dirty, lazy slut.” Q’s head hits the wall with the force of Nathan’s angry slap.

Q whimpers, genuine. “I’m sorry. I can’t present because my wrists are tied. If you untie them I can service you. Please let me service you, Alpha.”

“Fine. You better make it worth the trouble. Show me how grateful you are, after all, I could get in trouble if someone finds out. But you won’t tell anyone, will you? Such a good Omega, you’ll never tell. After all, you begged for this.” Nathan says.

 _Such a good Omega, you’ll never tell on us. You liked it, David. Begged for it even._ Q hesitates for a moment. He has to remind himself he that he isn’t sixteen, that he's stronger now, that he's doing this to get free. He’s almost free. All he has to do is agree _so it isn’t rape. (He is not the victim. He is not the victim. This is not rape. Nobody is forcing him. If he wants to escape so he has to nod, he has to agree. He wants to escape. He wants this.)_

Q nods. “I won’t tell.”

“Good boy.” Nathan bends over Q and unties the ropes, avoiding the puddle of vomit. The second Q’s wrists are free he gathers his remaining strength and headbutts Nathan as hard as he can. Before the Alpha can collect himself Q bites down on his shoulder, as deep as he can, and rips. 

Nathan elbows him in the ribs and the cuts and bruises scream in protest. Q grunts as he hits the floor, but he doesn’t give the Alpha the satisfaction of screaming. Nathan leans over Q, a promise of death in his eyes. It smells like cherries. 

Nathan pulls out knife. He shows it to Q, brings it towards the Omega slowly, soaking up the fear in Q’s eyes. “You’re not a very obedient pet.”

Q almost closes his eyes in defensive instinct, but he doesn’t. When he leans forwards and kicks, crushing Nathan’s balls, his eyes are wide open. The Alpha grunts and falls to his side, his free hand cradling his damaged genitals. Q dives at him, all claws and teeth, wresting the knife from Nathan's hand even as it cuts at him. Q's blood loosens Nathan's grip on it and it falls from his grasp when Q kicks him again. Q grasps it with both hands and stabs until the scent of cherries disappears.

Only when the room smells of only death, blood, sex, and vomit, and Nathan has been castrated, does Q let the knife slip from his hands. He searches Nathan’s pocket, finding a Starkphone. _Like a Smartphone but smarter, Starkier,_ his mind supplies. He uses the GPS to locate himself then dials Alec’s number, fingers trembling. To his relief, Alec picks up immediately. Q doesn’t know how much time more time he’ll have before someone comes in. The fight hadn’t exactly been quiet. “Alec? It’s me. I’m about a thousand meters east of Westdean, near the edge of Friston Forest,” he informs, his voice raspy. It hurts to speak. 

“We know. We’re scoping the place out right now. Are you okay? We’re going in now, stay safe,” Alec replies, his voice full of worry.

Something in Q breaks. He looks around the room, then at his bloodied hands, with blurry eyes. It’d all been pointless, for nothing. “Q? Q, are you there? Hold on, we’ll be right there.” Alec goes silent and Q hears gunshots echo twice over. He tries to reply, assure Alec that he’s fine, but all he can do is gasp for air as sobs wrack his body. 

When Alec bursts through the door Q looks up at him with misery etched into every seam of his body. Alec is by his side in his instant, scooping him up and petting him, instinctually making low, rumbling, Alpha noises meant to comfort distressed Omegas. He covers Q with his jacket and whispers sweet nothings in his ear, promises that Q knows will never be fulfilled. Q presses himself against the Beta, closer and closer, tries to bury himself in Alec’s scent of cotton candy safety. 

Alec carries him out and sits next to him in the car, occasionally pressing kisses to his forehead, and Q clings to him, no longer caring if the others see him as a weak Omega because, in this moment, he is. He always has been; he’d just been too blind to see it. He is little more than a fool. Not a clever boy at all, thinking himself strong. If he was strong, like a Double-O, like an Alpha, he wouldn’t be crying and left trembling from the force of his own tears. If he’d just been a good Omega and waited, he wouldn’t be sullied and sore, shattered as a dropped glass with only himself to blame. 

He’d tried to be more than an Omega, and this was his punishment. 

The car stops at MI6. They try to force Q go to Medical. He shakes his head in protest, swears he’s okay. For once, he’s bitterly glad that MI6 is filled with Alphas. They can’t smell the copper-rain-rust that whirls around him like an accusation. 

Still, they hover over him and fret, crowding around the car. They’d bodily drag him there, but Alec growls a clear warning when someone suggests it. Q numbly wipes himself off with a towel as they tell him he’s not okay, that he’s traumatized and needs help. They inform him that it’s not his fault, that he’s nothing to be ashamed of. They believe it too. After all, they’d found him naked, crying, covered in vomit, lips stained with blood, hands littered with cuts from when he’d wrested the knife of Nathan’s hands, and collapsed a foot away from a dead, castrated Alpha. Of course they think he’s the victim. He is not the victim.

He tries to tell them so, tell them that he’s fine, that he wasn’t raped like they’re so obviously assuming, but the bitter aftertaste of semen coating his tongue makes it hard to say the truth. It refuses to go away, making itself known over the bile taste of his stomach acid and the metallic tang of rust and blood. Every time he opens his mouth to speak he chokes on the ghost of Nathan’s knot. Eventually he takes to biting anyone whose hand gets too close. Eventually, they let him leave.

When they’re home at last, Alec asks him what happened.

He wants to tell Alec, but when he parts his lips, instead of words, it’s his strength that leaves him. He can do no more than crumple upon himself and cry as Alec wipes the blood and grime from his body. The water is hot and the soap disinfects and stings, but still, at the end of it, Q does not feel clean.


	8. Chapter 8

Tony has taken to hiding and locking himself up at the end of every month. The Avengers take notice and joke to each other that he must be having man periods or something. Tony can only wish it were that simple. He and Bruce haven’t made much headway in their project; whatever causes soul bonding between Alphas and their Omegas is as elusive as ever. They can’t even figure out what allows an Alpha to sense his or her soul mate when they’re close. Tony implemented his back-up plan, but there are a lot of horny people in the world. Even after cross-referencing five months’ worth of data he’s no closer to finding his Omega that he was before.

“Bruce, we’re two of the most brilliant people on earth, why can’t we figure it out?” Tony bemoans, flicking his holographic screen into the wall. Unfortunately, because Tony designed it too well, it merely bounces off instead of shattering satisfactorily.

“Maybe because there is no pattern or whatever it is that draws us to our Omegas is completely instinctual or undetectable. Sure, the markings that Omegas get have chemical components, but they’re the same across all Omegas. Maybe the whole soul mate thing is just fate or magic.”

“Bruce!” Tony gasps. “That’s blasphemous. You’re a scientist! Next thing you know you’re going to be telling me that-“

“Norse gods exist? There are alien races out there? There’s a grown man in your living room watching Pokemon and imitating Pikachu by summoning thunder from the sky?” Bruce finishes before Tony can.

“That’s not the same!” Tony groans. "Speaking of Thor, he really needs to stop screaming, 'Pika!' every time he zaps someone. Kids are going to start getting the wrong idea."

“Except it might be,” Bruce sighs. “Even if we’re human, there are still some things that can’t be explained by science. And do you want to tell him that he has to change his war cry? Because I'm not doing it.”

“That’s because we just haven’t figured them out yet,” Tony argues. and Bruce gives him a pointed look. “Okay, I guess you have a point." Bruce continues to glare at him. "Okay, you have two points. So what do I do now?”

“What you’ve been doing. Keep your calendar open at the end of every month and pray it doesn’t become more frequent. That, or release something to the public begging your Omega to stop getting laid and hope he or she takes pity on you.” Bruce sounds as unoptimistic as Tony feels.

“I guess. Thanks for trying to help me Bruce, really. You’re a good guy.”

“Sir?” Jarvis inquires. “I wouldn’t give up hope just yet.”

Tony goes from mopey to alert in an instant. “What is it Jarvis?”

“It seems your Omega has used a Starkphone. The signal originates from Westdean, England.”

“Jarvis, prepare the Mark LXI.”

“Sir, wait. You might want to see this first.” Jarvis pulls up a hologram in front of Tony and Tony feels his heart stop. The scanner was programmed to make an image of the chemical signature it sensed so it could send it back to Tony to be double checked. It’s simple black and white and not very high quality because the scanner had to be tiny enough that nobody would really notice it, but that’s his name all right and it’s crackled through, like the scratch cards that people never bother completely revealing because they already know from the small glimpse that they can see that they’ve lost.

“Jarvis, tell me it’s just a hardware of software problem,” Tony asks, hopeful. He doesn’t want to believe this.

“No, sir.”

There’s only one way to damage a soul mark aside from killing the Alpha: get rid of the skin. Either his Omega, really, truly, hates him, or he or she has been tortured. Seeing as his Omega is using a Starkphone for the first time, he’s guessing it’s the later. But who would ever torture a helpless Omega?

“I’m sorry Tony,” Bruce whispers, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m just gonna go now Bruce.” Tony swallows down his anxiety and hurries to the launching pad. 

As his suit dons itself on him, Steve comes running at him. “Tony, I heard what happened. I’m coming too. You don’t know what you’re facing.”

“Steve, I appreciate the thought but – “

“I’m not going to slow you down, I’ll be following you in the Quinjet so I’ll arrive after you, but I’m coming.”

Tony nods and salutes. “Thanks Steve.” With that, he takes off.

By the time Tony gets to the coordinates Jarvis gives him it’s dark, almost midnight. They bring him to a building that looks deserted. He walks in, repulsors at the ready. A coat of dust cover everything, as if nobody has ever lived here or someone wants it to look that way. His Omega is nowhere to be found. He’s about to start scanning the place when Jarvis reports that someone is approaching with purpose. He faces the door, trains a light on it, and waits.

“What are you doing here?” The stranger asks from around the corner, gun pointed.

“I’m looking for my Omega,” Tony replies, hoping the guy knows what happened here. “He was here five or so hours ago. You should point the gun down. The bullet will just ricochet."

A man steps into the room. He's wearing an expensive suit, impeccably tailored to his muscular physique. He’s handsome in a gruff sort of way with blond hair and blue eyes, though he’s a bit old. Everything about him screams Alpha in an almost obnoxious way. His eyes are cold and even though he looks relaxed, Tony bets the guy is tenser than Bruce on a bad day. “I suggest you leave,” the guy says, gun still pointed. Ya, he definitely knows something.

“Why?” Tony challenges.

“Go back to America,” the knothead replies.

“What did you do to my Omega?” Tony asks, rage and worry making their way through him.

“Nothing. Just as he wants nothing to do with you.” 

So Tony’s Omega is a male. A wave of inexplicable happiness runs through him. He knows something about his Omega! “Is he okay?” Tony asks. He has to know. It’s even more than important than finding his Omega.

The man twitches almost imperceptibly and Tony thinks he’s going to snap in half with all the tension in his body. “Will you leave if I answer your question?”

Tony nods. “Pinky promise.”

“He’ll be okay. He’s in a rehabilitation facility at the moment.”

“Thank you.” Tony makes his leave and starts to look up every rehabilitation facility in the country. The man might be lying but he also might be telling the truth, thinking that Tony won’t expect him to be. And it’s the only thing he has. Except…

“Jarvis, the phone that sent us the image, who did it belong to and where is it now?”

“It belonged to a man named Nathan Ritter. I don't think he's of any significance. The phone is no longer transmitting any signals. I’m guessing it was gutted near where you’re standing. Would you like a list of the numbers it has called?”

“Ya, that should work.” Hopefully the last call had been made by his Omega and will help Tony find him.

“It’s heavily encrypted.” What? Why would an Omega be calling an encrypted number?

“Can you still get it?” Tony asks.

“I can try,” Jarvis replies.

\-------

Q’s short nap doesn’t help him mentally recover in the slightest. His sleep had been plagued by nightmares despite Alec’s body being curled protectively around him. Q knows he won’t be able to truly rest until he knows that whoever did this to him is gutted and destroyed. He slips away from Alec and makes his way back to MI6. To his relief and surprise, Alec doesn’t wake. He borrows Alec’s car. He doesn’t feel much like walking, even if MI6 is only a few blocks from Alec’s house.

The Alphas swarm around him, sniffing the air around him as if they think their dull senses can actually ascertain to his wellbeing. To Q, the whole place reeks of chocolate. He sits down at his desk and begins ordering them about, using a text-to-speech program because they’re not worth aggravating his sore throat for even if they follow his orders to the letter.

In between tasks they praise him, tell him that he’s surprisingly strong. There’s the sweet smell of sincerity under the overwhelming scent of chocolate, but it’s not Alec’s cotton candy and all he hears is, ‘what a stupid Omega, weak yet trying so hard to be an Alpha. You got what you deserved. Not such a clever boy now, are you?’

They all know he’s Tony’s Omega now, but they don’t mention it. They don’t mention the earlier incident at all, but the shift in mood says it all.

The Double-Os all lurk around, thinking Q doesn’t notice them. All of them are there except for 003 and 005, who are on missions, 006, who is at home sleeping, and 007, who is undoubtedly busy fucking some Omega. Unlike the Alphas of Q branch, they smell of cherries and cream. Undoubtedly, they’re a little satisfied with having killed off all the people in the building Q had been held in. Still, they wait for Q to sic them on whoever had been pulling the strings. 

He finds the rat, the one who’d sold him out. It’d been one of the Alphas he and Alec had played a prank on; he was one of the Alphas whose Omega they’d given a knotting toy. Apparently his Omega had left him after that and he blamed Q even though Q and Alec never left any evidence. A few of them disappear to go torture the rat, but come back with nothing but half-smiles. Unprofessionally, they’d gotten too carried away torturing to actually question. It’s of no matter though; they know Q will figure it out soon.

Sure enough Q has the bastards before the clock hits two. Moneypenny stays by his side the whole time, leaving only to fetch him honeyed tea. 

“They’re part a small gang in Liverpool, no more than forty members. Well, thirty now. Before you all rush off, I want to come with you,” Q has his computer say for him. He knows that he will be a burden, but the Double-Os look at each other and nod. Really, this isn’t even a job for them. Normal agents could handle the job just fine. It seems they’re personally offended that they let their Quartermaster get kidnapped and by amateurs at that.

He’s distributing gear, most of it unnecessary because unlike 007, they don’t break everything he hands them, just most of everything. Some toys they don’t even break, they just lie and say they do, squirreling items away for personal use, the thieves. 

Q is ridiculously curious by nature, but even he doesn’t want to know why 0013 kept the cock ring that gradually shrinks until the wearer’s genitals are permanently destroyed. It wasn’t his idea; 0013 had requested it of him prior to a mission involving some sleazy politician in Libya. He wouldn’t have done it – not just because he only makes personal toys for 006, but also because it had just seemed plain wrong – except she’d given him a sinfully soft, warm, jacket that didn’t make him look like a marshmallow as a bribe. (She still refuses to tell him where she’d got it from. He suspects she has figured out that it’s his favorite and is keeping its origins a secret so she bribe him more in the future.) Anyways, she claims the toy had been ‘destroyed in the line of duty.’ Q highly doubts that is true and if it is he’s terrified because that thing had been made out of high carbon steel.

He’s handing out the last case or equipment when 007 bursts in, saying, “Tony Stark is in Great Britain and looking for Q.”

Everyone freezes. Things clatter to the floor, dropped in disbelief. Q is about to tell him that that’s ridiculous when his phone rings. It’s Alec. He takes the call and before he can say hello, Alec whispers, low and urgent, “Tony Stark is outside my house in his Iron Man suit, Captain America by his side. I don’t know where you are – I’m hoping you’re at MI6 or I will bloody strangle you for leaving without telling me and putting yourself in more danger – but you better bunker down. I’ll try to lead him somewhere else, but no promises. Stay safe Q.” With that, Alec hangs up. 

Q bangs his head on his desk. Moneypenny tuts beside him. He glares at her then hands her his phone. She dismantles it and stomps on the parts with her stiletto heels while he types, “Guess I’m staying here. Divide yourselves in two. One group goes to take out the gang, the other goes to Alec’s house to monitor the Stark situation.” All of them look loathe to be part of the second group and miss out on the action so he types, “Group two gets shiny new weapons designed to take down the Iron Man suit. If anything goes south, you get to reveal yourselves and use them. If not, well, I know you guys are going to pretend they got destroyed or lost and squirrel them away anyways.” 

They don’t even have the decency to look sheepish. Instead, there’s a flurry of action as they flip coins, play rock-paper-scissors, arm wrestle, and various promises are exchanged. For once he’s glad for their childish behavior: they’re too busy marveling at their new toys to ask him why he doesn’t want to meet Stark and instead has an arsenal large enough to take out an army, all of it designed to take down his Alpha.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments on the last chapter! They gave me the idea for this one :3.

Bond knows that at first, the Double-Os had doubted the abilities of their new Quartermaster. He doesn't blame them. After all, Q had seemed less than impressive all the times they'd seen him in the previous years. Bond would have doubted Q too, if Alec hadn't always been telling him how brilliant the Omega was.

Bond also knows that when Q had handed the each of the Double-Os his personal creations for the first time their doubts had disappeared one by one, replaced by a need to suck up. The Omega's inventions are far better than his predecessor's. They're less of random killing machines, more of personal statements. With this Q it's not about being overly creative or flashy; it's about sending a message. (Collectively, the Double-Os have stolen over a million dollar's worth of statements and destroyed at least twice of that. They've given Q paintings in apology, telling him that pictures are worth a thousand words each, but he remains as grumpy about his equipment as ever.) 

The Omega has been Q for three seasons now and slowly, the Double-Os have begun to think of him as theirs, growling at the Alphas in Q branch who they know don't treat Q with respect whenever they visit and Q isn't looking - they know Q would be pissed if he ever found out there were going all Alpha over him. They might be trained assassins, but they have a ridiculous soft spot for Q, even if the Omega doesn’t realize it. So ridiculous that they’re willing to reduce themselves to acting like children fighting over toys just so nobody asks the awkward elephant question in the room.

Why the hell does their Quartermaster hate his Alpha so much? They’d always assumed that his Alpha was dead, but now that they know he’s alive everyone has a plethora of question. Is Stark the reason Q hates Alphas so much? Bond feels his hackles rise at the thought. Stark hadn’t seemed abusive, but he doesn’t seem like the type to keep good care of his Omega. Actually, they don’t even know for sure if Q hates Stark. They just know he has obviously been avoiding the man for years and has an arsenal designed to take him down. Though, Bond supposes that the arsenal is enough evidence in its own, even if none of the weapons are made to do anything more than incapacitate. 

Bond looks at the electroshock weapon/gun hybrid Q had given him. "Like a taser, but far more powerful, with homing capabilities, and without silly strings every time you shoot. It should be strong enough to crash him long enough for you to restrain him, but not so long that it’ll do permanent damage to his heart. Remember that he is an American hero and we can’t be going around killing those," Q had said, sighing at the end. "Oh, it should work about the same on Captain America. I think," he’d added as an afterthought.

The Double-Os are all on edge after having lost Q once already. Bond is sure that 0013 is bringing her gun and a plethora of knives despite Q’s instructions. Of all of them, Alec withstanding, she dotes on Q the most. Hell, she’d gotten a custom made jacket from J. H. Cutler for him after she’d noticed he always looked like death frozen over after his morning commute. Then she’d worried herself into a frenzy when she’d remembered that there was no way he’d ever accept a gift from an Alpha. Finally, tired of her fretting, Bond had told her to give it to him under the pretense of a bribe. She’d followed to his advice and was practically giddy with glee when she’d reported to Bond, “His blush was so cute! You should’ve seen it.” Bond had grunted in reply than watched with trepidation as she had somehow skipped away in her stilettos. 

He doesn’t want to know what the hell she’d bribed Q to do.

It’s a contest of a sort between the Double-Os; who can get the biggest rise out of their stern-faced, stoic, and grumpy Quartermaster. It hadn’t started out as one, but every time they’d called him adorable or given him a cute trinket like a stuffed animal he’d reacted so vehemently that they'd just had to make it into one because they had to cope with having their affection rejected somehow. (When they'd first warmed up to him they hadn’t known he’d be so against being complimented on his cuteness and receiving cuddly things. They thought he'd been rejecting them, not their avenues of affection. They can't be blamed for it: Omegas are supposed to love plushies, blankets, etc. They make nests out of soft, squishy, and cute things and sleep in them.)

It’s not like they can stop themselves from treating Q the way they do. They're still trying to make up for being mean to him at the beginning, before they'd fallen in love with his toys and gotten to know him, and don't know of any other way to go about doing it. Not to mention it’s practically Alpha instinct to coddle and spoil Omegas that they like, and they can't help that they find Q, with all his brilliance and bravado, wonderful. Well, what they’d thought was bravado. After what happened earlier, there’s no denying that Q has the balls to back up his talk, which is more than what Bond can say for most Alphas, with their ridiculous posturing.

Q is unlike any Omega they’ve ever encountered. If Bond were the type to conform to society’s norm and go for Omegas, he’d definitely go for Q. Well, he would’ve gone for Alec first, but that’s beside the point. (Bond had been so disappointed when he’d figured Alec wasn’t all Alpha.)

“008, don’t think I didn’t see that. You’re on team one, you big git, you don’t need that,” a computerized voice barks out. Bond has no idea how Q got the digitalized voice to sound so angry. “Leave, all of you. I have work to do and so do you.” 

Bond grins as 008 reluctantly puts a taser-not-taser down. He’d undoubtedly been looking forward to trying to fry some of Q’s kidnappers.

Who’d have ever thought the Double-Os would end up being bossed around by the tiny Omega they used to crack jokes about?

\-------

Steve landed fifteen minutes ago and Tony is now filling him in on the details as they fly. Well, as Tony flies and carries Steve. Tony thinks that the last call on the Starkphone that found his Omega was made by his Omega and that whoever his Omega called knows where he is now. Steve hopes, for Tony's sake, that Tony is right.

They're landed outside of the house when Steve feels the world tilt.

“Tony,” Steve gasps, breathless as the air shifts. “I think my soul mate is here.” It makes no sense because he doesn’t get to have a soul mate, but something, some part of him, compels him to take a step forward, then another, until he’s standing at the door. He’s about to rip the door open when a gauntlet covered hand stops him. He’s about to struggle free when Tony laughs.

“Cap, you’re supposed to knock first. I’m glad you’re finally finding your soul mate, not as glad as you are because that’s impossible, but show some delicacy.” Oh. Realization of what he was about to do dawns on him and he blushes in mortification.

“Right. Sorry.” Steve apologizes and Tony lets go.

“No problem. I just don’t want your Omega to think you’re a big brute.” 

Steve knocks on the door. It breaks off its hinges. He starts to panic. This isn't going anything like how he'd imagined. “Tony what do I do? What if my mate hates me now? I didn’t mean to –“

He’s cut off by the click of a safety. Steve freezes, but not because of the gun pointed at him. Right around the corner, hiding behind the wall, is his soul mate. It has to be. Steve’s heart is beating triple time and –

“Back away. If you take another step closer I will shoot you.” His soul mate sounds angry. Why is he angry? 

“Steve!” Tony barks from behind him. _Far_ behind him. Oh. Steve hadn't realized he'd been walking forwards. He raises his hands in the universal sign for surrender, stopping in his tracks even though every part of being screams at him to get closer to his soul mate. It's like he's being drawn in by a magnetic force. He _has_ to see his soul mate.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you or break your door, I was just really excited. My name is Steve Rogers. I’m your soul mate," Steve explains. He fidgets; he doesn't want to scare his mate, but he needs to get closer. He needs to see.

“Nice try. I don’t have a soul mate. My soul mate is dead,” his mate replies.

Steve feels like he’s just been shot even though his mate hasn't pulled the trigger. How could his mate think that? Steve is alive and here and wants him so, so badly. He takes a step forward; maybe if he's closer his mate will sense their bond. Steve has to apologize for making him think he was alone. He has that he's a good mate, that Steve will make him happy, that he wants him and will love him more than he could've ever thought possible. He has to – 

A sharp _crack_ rings through the air. Pain vaults through his right shoulder. Steve presses a hand against it, confused.

His hand comes away bloody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What better way to celebrate my birthday than shoot Steve? Am I right?


	10. Chapter 10

When Captain America opens his mouth, claiming to be Alec’s mate, Alec feels a whisper of hope run through him. Then he remembers that it’s impossible. His mate is dead. He doesn’t have a mate. If Captain America really was his mate he’d feel tingles or electric sparks or something and he doesn’t feel anything but anger. Sure, Cap is attractive enough that Alec could easily be attracted to him if he hadn’t turned out to be such a douche, but Alec isn’t attracted to him at all. 

So then why, when he pulls the trigger and stains the Captain’s uniform a red that’s too dark to be patriotic, does he feel a wave of regret? Why does a sense of _wrong, wrong, wrong_ fill him?

\-------

The second they arrive they hear a gunshot.

Bond jumps out of the car and breaks into a run, the others behind him. He knows that Alec can take care of himself, but for all that Alec is an assassin and an Alpha, he is still part Omega and Bond’s instincts scream at him to protect his best friend.

The door is broken down. Iron Man has Alec pinned up against a wall, one gauntlet restraining both of the Beta’s wrists. The other is wrapped around his neck. Captain America is watching, seemingly frozen, his shoulder bleeding. A gun, presumably Alec’s, lies on the floor. 

Bond can’t take the shot. If he does, Alec will get shocked as well. No matter how strong Alec is, his heart won’t be able to take a shock meant to decommission a protected, metal one. Bond can’t even use his Walther because the bullets will just ricochet. He signals the others to hold their fire.

“Q, Iron Man is in contact with Alec and I can’t shoot. What other options do we have? They haven’t noticed our presence yet.” Bond relays through his com. There are no CCTV cameras and satellites don’t see through houses so Q is effectively blind. 

Before Q can answer, Captain America rushes at Alec and Iron Man. Bond shoots, aiming at his broad back. The Captain blocks it with his shield, not even pausing. The others’ bullets are similarly deflected.

Bond is about to jump in there to save Alec, superheroes or no, when Captain America does something completely unexpected.

“Bond? I heard shots. What’s happening?” Q’s digital voice yells through the com.

“Captain America is engaging with Iron Man,” Bond replies, watching in disbelief as Captain America rips Iron Man away from Alec and tackles him to the ground. Iron Man seems similarly surprised. Bond signals everyone to stand down. 

“What the hell Cap?” Iron Man yells, tilting his head to avoiding taking a shield to the face.

Captain America freezes mid-swing then slowly pulls off of Iron Man. “I…Sorry, you just attacked my Omega and I –“ Captain America rubs his forehead and shakes his head, almost as if he’s breaking out of a stupor. “It’s like my mind went blank. Next thing I knew I was on top of you. All that I can remember is that I knew I had to get you away from him.”

The Double-Os, all of them except for Bond, look at each other, confused. There’s no Omega nearby. Bond feels like a bomb has just dropped and he’s reeling in the shockwaves. Alec is Captain America’s soul mate. 

Alec glares at Captain America, gun retrieved, but not aimed. “I am nobody’s Omega. Do I look like an Omega to you? I’m an Alpha, you asshole. And like I told you already, my mate is dead. Now I suggest you and your friend leave. You have no business here.” Damn if Alec doesn’t look guilty. It’s barely there, imperceptible to anyone else here, but it’s there. Alec half believes Captain America. 

“Q, are you hearing this?” Bond asks.

“Yes,” Q’s computer voice replies. “Does it look like they’re really bond mates?”

“Well, Alec shot him,” Bond explains.

“And he’s still alive.” Q rasps a stream of expletives that Bond whole-heartedly agrees with. They both know that Alec only shoots to kill (unless the mission details otherwise). And he never misses his target. “Wait, Bond. You said Alec shot him? What does the gun look like?”

“Yes, Alec shot Captain America,” Bond replies with a hint of exasperation. “It’s a Walther, looks different from mine though. Why?” 

“It’s a prototype. I accidentally left it at his house the other day. I was going back to get it when I was kidnapped. He probably grabbed the closest gun and that was it. The bullets are poisoned. Alec doesn’t know. I’m sending Medical over with the antidote immediately. They should be there in ten minutes at the most. I have no idea anything will react with Captain America’s body chemistry but – “

Just then, Captain America collapses. 

“Cap!” Iron Man is kneeling by his unconscious side in a second, but Bond isn’t looking at them. He’s looking at Alec, who looks worried and terrified and not like an Alpha at all. He looks like he wants to go to Captain America, but he also looks like he wants to run away. Bond doesn’t blame him.

“Everyone, go home,” Bond orders, Q echoing him. They don’t need to see this. 0013, 001, 002, 004, and 0010 disperse quickly and Bond enters the house with deliberately loud steps. “He should be fine. He passed out because the bullet he was shot with was poisoned. A medical team is on its way right now with the antidote.” Iron Man’s head whirls at Alec, his glowing eyes accusatory. “He didn’t know,” Bond states, before Iron Man decides to get violent again.

“How the hell could someone not know that his gun shoots poisoned bullets?” Iron Man accuses.

“It isn’t his gun,” Bond explains. “Stop glaring at him. He’s on edge as it is.” It takes all of Bond’s willpower to not rush to Alec’s side and comfort the Beta. He’s never seen Alec look so distressed and torn in his life.

Iron Man turns to stare at Bond now. “You’re from earlier. How am I supposed to believe that there really is a medical team is on the way? Who are you guys?”

“If we wanted him dead, he’d already be dead. Who we are is of no concern to you. They should be here within the next five minutes.”

“You shot my best friend. You know who and where my Omega is. You can either tell me or I can hack into everything in England, and I promise I’ll leave your systems a mess,” Iron Man threatens.

Bond snorts. “You’re in no position to bargain. Your friend might die if we don’t give him the antidote. And even if you did try to ‘hack into everything in England’ and create an international incident, you’d fail.” Bond hears Q hum his approval.

”Ya well, I’m pretty sure your friend over there has finally puzzled out that, ya, Captain America is his bond mate. I’m also pretty sure he doesn’t want his mate to die.”

“My mate is dead,” Alec says, but his words sound empty. He doesn’t believe them.

“Bond, it’s actually highly likely that they are soul mates,” Q pipes into his earpiece. “You know Alec’s story. Captain America was, in essence, dead when Alec was born. That’s why his soul mark was twisted. The lack of a soul mark might be why he’s confused and not able to tell if Captain America really is his soul mate.” There’s a short pause before he says, “You should tell him. Before he does something that he regrets.”

“But what about you?” Bond asks. Iron Man stares at him, probably trying to figure out who Bond is talking to. If Alec and Captain America bond there’s no way Q will be able to avoid Stark, not unless he cuts off all ties with Alec.

“Bond!” Q’s computer snaps, angry again. “That was not a suggestion. It was an order.”

Bond turns to Alec. “Your mate essentially was dead. He’s alive now. We’re pretty sure Captain America wasn’t lying.”

“I’m not an Omega,” Alec protests. “I don’t feel a pull or anything.” That’s when Bond realizes why Alec looks so terrified. Alec is scared to hope after all these years of telling himself he doesn’t have a mate.

“ _We_ think there’s an explanation for that,” Bond assures.

At the same time, Iron Man blurts, ”You don’t have to be an Omega.” They turn to stare at him and wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. “It’s not my secret to tell.”

As realization dawns on Bond, Medical arrives. With Iron Man’s help they peel off the top half of the Captain’s costume, inject him with the antidote, and hoist him onto a cot. The Captain’s skin is covered in sweat and his skin a sickly, pale shade. They wheel him into the ambulance and they all pile in.

Not once does Alec look away, his eyes trained on Captain America’s bullet wound, which has closed.

“We’ll have to reopen the wound and take the bullet out or else it will continue to poison him. Even with the antidote his body won’t be able to fight it off if that happens. Do you know how long we’ll have to take the bullet out once we open the wound?” One of the medics asks, addressing Iron Man.

“Not long. The worse the wound, the longer it will stay open, but normal anesthetics don’t work on him. He’ll feel everything you do to him. He’ll try to stay still, but I don’t know where the poison has left his state of mind. I’ll hold him down,” Iron Man replies. Then, turning to Alec he says, “It might help if you touch him, talk to him, or something.”

“But, I’m the one who shot him,” Alec protests, visibly miserable.

“Look, he’s Steve. He’ll forgive you. He’s wanted to meet you for about forever. Well, ninety-something years, but close enough. Now, do you want to help take out the bullet you put in him? Cause if not you could leave and make more room for the rest of us.”

“I’ll help. What do I do?”

“Hold his hand; tell him your name, anything. You could tell the guy that you had pizza for dinner every day this week and he’ll be happy, if a little concerned for your health. Just don’t shoot him again. He’ll forgive you, but I won’t.” 

Alec takes a hesitant step forward and places his hand on top of Captain America’s. Captain America, despite being unconscious, grasps it. Alec’s face lights up. “He’s really mine,” Alec breathes, eyes full of wonder.

“Congratulations on finding your mate. We're happy for you,” Bond says as they begin the surgery. He’s not sure if Alec even hears him, busy as he is, reveling in the formation of his bond.

Bond is glad that Alec never looks away from Captain America. If he did, he’d notice that Bond’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

"It's real then," Q whispers in his ear. Bond nods, knowing that Q has a camera somewhere in the vehicle. "Thank you for passing on my blessings for me. You're free to go home now. Medical will take them to the retired MI6 tunnels." Q disconnects the line.

Bond is loath to leave, but he does. He won't be missed here and he has more important places to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems I have a thing for breaking Alec and Q apart.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT! Does anyone know someone taking 00Q prompts and wouldn’t mind writing Tony Stark in there too? Because I have a three Q/Stark/007 prompts running around in my mind and I would love seeing someone write them because I can't seem to quite get them right. (One of them would definitely be short, the other two could range from short to really long.)

Q sits in his safe room and bathes in the glow of keyboard and screen backlights. This room in MI6 is his haven, accessible only to him. The windows that allow him to see outside, but no one to see in, are reinforced and bullet-proof. The door and its locks are coated in graphene. In here, he is safe from anything and everything but himself. So why does fear curl itself around his mind and squeeze until his nerves are so shaken that his fingers tremble?

He should be happy for his friend; Alec is getting the soul mate he thought he’d never get to have. So why is Q watching the screen with a mix of feelings so ugly that they make the room smell like bitter almonds, like cyanide? Is it petty jealousy or genuine heartache that runs through him as he watches Alec watch Steve Rogers with star gazer’s eyes? Neither emotion is his to feel. Alec’s soft smile that surely tastes of the sweetest cotton candy isn’t Q’s to press his lips to. 

When had Q started foolishly thinking that Alec was his? 

An alert pops up on the side of his screen, breaking him out of his self-pity and causing him to almost jump out of his skin. He looks at the video feed of the camera trained on the door; it’s just Bond. Q lets the man in, but never takes his eyes off the screen in front of him, just as Alec never takes his eyes off Steve Rogers.

“What do you want?” Q types. The words don’t come out quite as grumpy as he wants them to. He’ll have to work on a better text-to-voice program someday.

“Catch.” Q instinctively ducks at those words. A second later Bond taps him on the head with a small container. “Suppressants. Your heat is coming up in the next few days right? There’s still time if you take them now.”

Q gives him a bitter smile. “Thanks. I take it I’m not getting my tech back, seeing that this is all you returned with. Anyways, I’m surprised you’re not offering to take me through it. I’m almost offended.” He swallows a little white pill dry, his throat protesting. Perhaps Bond isn’t as bad as he’d thought. Or maybe Q is just feeling desperately lonely.

“You’re not my type.”

“Your scent says otherwise.”

“My scent?” Bond asks, looking intrigued.

“You smell like vanilla. It’s meant to be alluring, I think. All Omegas, even the ones whose sense of smells aren’t that great, can pick up the scent easily. Alphas smell like vanilla around Omegas they wouldn’t mind sleeping with.”

“Q, what do I normally smell like when I don’t smell like vanilla?”

Q thinks about it for a moment. “Your scent is always predominately vanilla.”

Bond smiles at this. “Have you ever considered that maybe it’s just my natural scent?”

“That, Bond, would be something telltale and terrifying in its own right.” Yet it makes sense. After all, Bond is always luring people in with his charm. It’s in his nature to exude appeal, so why shouldn’t his scent be the same? “What are you doing here anyways? I told you to go home.”

“Perhaps.” Bond turns to look at the video feed of Alec. “You could have been selfish,” Bond remarks, avoiding the question. Q sighs. Why must Bond always be so difficult?

“He would’ve grown to resent me. Besides, out of all of us, he deserves happiness the most. Do you think they'll be able to figure things out?”

“You heard Tony Stark’s comment. I think Captain America there isn’t quite an Alpha. I don’t know how it’ll work out between them, but Alec is stubborn and I don’t imagine his mate is the type to give up easily either. They’ll manage, somehow.” Bond turns away from the screen to look down at Q. “But will you?”

“Your concern is quite touching, but unnecessary. It’s not like Alec will quit. I’ll still see him often enough and it’s not like Stark and Rogers are glued together at the hip.” The wall of screens to his left that displays media articles about the two of them from the past two years – every last picture has the two of them side by side – says differently, but they could just be putting on appearances in public.

Even if Alec all but disappears from his life, Q will be fine. He’s been alone before and he can do it again. 

“Alec is more than just a passing acquaintance to you Q,” Bond states, as if Q doesn’t already know that.

A new alert pops up and Q opens it in favor of responding.

“This just in: billionaire Tony Stark has just announced plans to create a Stark Industries branch in London. Construction began an hour ago. For now, they’ll be temporarily leasing the space above the –“ Q closes the window. It’s 6 a.m. How the hell did Stark manage to assemble a construction crew, let alone get a building permit?

“What’ll you do now? Leave London? Hide in MI6 for the rest of your life?” Bond asks. “We could try scaring him off, but from those news reports you have over there, it doesn’t look like he scares off easy, or at all. You could just try to approach him.”

“I will not hide or run. I am not scared of him Bond.” Q turns away from the screens and glares at the Alpha. “I’ve no need to scare him off, although I doubt a direct “no” would make him leave. Alphas always take ‘no’ to mean ‘yes,’ and don’t tell me I’m wrong. I’ve seen you on missions.” He’s seen the give and take, how Omegas offer so much and how greedy Alphas take advantage, take more than what’s offered. Stark and Rogers have already taken Alec away from him. Q won't let them take anything else. “So tell me Bond, you’re an Alpha and a killer at that, what’s the best way to break my Alpha’s heart and resolve?” Nothing more than bitterness and hate will be had from him.

Bond grins, genuine and predatory. “How do you feel about marrying me?”

\--------

Steve groans as he comes awake. He feels like he’s just gone through a fire. Yet, for some reason, he feels at peace. “Wha’ happened?” He asks, blinking at the harsh light as he opens his eyes.

“You were shot with a poisoned bullet. Sorry about that,” a bashful, familiar voice says. Steve shoots up, fully awake in an instant. His mate is here! His mate is holding his hand. Steve stares unabashedly, burning the man’s features into his brain. He has brilliant green eyes and a short, militaristic, haircut that brings out his strong jaw line. He's handsome, tall, obviously capable of handling himself in a fight, with a kind air about him; he’s the kind of man Steve had dreamed about becoming when he'd been growing up. 

Steve can feel their bond beginning to form already. His mate breaks eye-contact and Steve whines before he can stop himself. “Sorry, I’m not at Omega like you were probably hoping for.” His mate apologizes, obviously misinterpreting Steve's stare.

“No!” His mate looks at him strangely at the outburst. “I just…” Steve blushes, unsure of how to put his feelings into words. He doesn’t want to scare his mate away. “I never thought I’d get to meet you. Can we start over? I’m Steve Rogers.” Steve traces the calluses on his mate’s palm, reveling in the contact. He wonders if his mate is an Alpha, or maybe even a Beta.

His mate looks hesitant for a moment, but then he smiles and says, “Alec Trevelyan.”

"Nice to meet you, Alec Trevelyan," Steve says, wanting to try his mate's name.

Alec scoots his chair closer to Steve's bed, leans towards him and, before Steve can process what’s happening, kisses him.

Before Steve has a chance to react to possibly the best thing that has ever happened to him, Alec pulls away. A part of him wants to whine, crawl into his mate’s lap beg for another taste of his sweet lips. Another part of him wants to growl and bite, wrestle Alec to the ground, and claim him as his. Steve feels hopelessly confused by this man. He’s never felt so torn by his instincts before.

“Sorry for surprising you. I just wanted to have something to remember you by,” his mate says, confusing Steve even further.

“What do you mean, ‘to remember me by’?” Steve asks, dread curling in the pit of his stomach.

“I want you and I want this. I mean, I always thought I wouldn’t get to have a mate. This, it’s everything I ever wanted really, but I have to break our bond.” Alec’s smile disappears as he speaks, his expression turning as sad as Steve feels.

“Why?” Maybe there's a way to fix it.

“Because I have someone who needs me and it wouldn’t be fair to him if I left him for you.”

“You don’t have to. I could just be a friend,” Steve protests, feeling the world tilt underneath him. Of course his mate already has someone. Alec is gorgeous and all that anyone could every dream of.

“Steve, if I’m not wrong, your best friend is Tony Stark. You’d do just about anything to see him happy, right?” Steve nods. Of course he would. “I feel the same way about my friend. More than anything, I want to see him happy. He _needs_ me more than I _want_ you.”

Steve still doesn’t understand. What does this have to do with their bond? “I would never make you leave your friends. I could move here. Tony is already building – “

“That’s the problem!” Alec cries, interrupting. Alec throws his hands up in frustration, breaking the physical contact between them. “Tony Stark, your best friend, is hunting down my best friend. Do you know how hard he’s worked to get where he is? How much he’s suffered because of Stark? If I bond with you, Stark will inevitably become a part of my life, and I will lose the most important person in my life.” Alec’s shoulders are trembling and Steve longs to hug him and soothe the tremors away.

“Your best friend is Stark’s Omega, isn’t he?” Steve prays that he’s just misunderstanding, that he’s somehow gotten the message wrong, that – 

“He isn’t Stark’s _anything_ ,” Alec seethes. Steve feels his hope shatter. Steve knows that if he told Tony to, Tony would give up his search, tell Steve to be happy, then be silent in his misery because he is just that stupidly self-sacrificing. 

“I can’t tell Tony to stop searching. You haven’t seen how badly he wants to find your friend. He’s miserable almost all the time because he knows his soul mate doesn’t want him. He –“

“Goodbye, Steve.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the responses last chapter! You guys are awesome :D

It’s possibly the hardest – and definitely the most painful – thing Alec has ever done, walking away from Steve. Never has he been so glad for his lack of a soul mark. He can’t even fathom how much it would hurt to walk away if he had Steve’s name written on his skin, reminding him of exactly what he’s leaving behind.

Alec is halfway out the door when his phone rings. Q.

“Hello?” Alec asks, wondering why Q would call him. Bond had handed him a com before leaving. He lingers at the doorway, using the call as an excuse to stay near his mate a little longer. He’ll allow himself this small selfishness, no more.

“Alec, James told me you found your mate. Congratulations! Have fun with him. Don’t worry about me, James is here,” says a voice that isn’t Q’s. Why is Q referring to James by his first name? He always calls the agent Bond or 007. 

“Thanks. What’s up with your voice?” Alec asks calmly, though he’s on the verge of panicking. 

“I strained it the other night, if you know what I mean.” Alec relaxes. Q must be using a computer to talk to him or something. Then Q says, “James and I got a little bit too enthusiastic when celebrating. That’s why I’m calling really,” and Alec becomes wary again.

“Celebrating what?” He asks, wondering where this is going.

“We’re getting married.”

“What?” Alec almost drops his phone in surprise. “I mean, uh, congratulations. Guess we both have reason to celebrate today huh?” What is Q playing at? Why is he lying to him? Does Q not trust him anymore? Does he think Alec would really tell Steve his secrets?

“Surely you can’t be that surprised. We’ve been together for years. And yes, we do, but celebrate with your newfound mate. That’s an order. I won’t forgive you if you cruelly leave the man alone upon just meeting just so you can come and hover over us. He’s your first priority now.” With that, the line goes dead. 

Alec stares at his phone. As confusing as the call was, one thing is clear. Q wants him to stay with Steve, very much so. It might be as part of a plan, but more likely Q just wants him to be happy. He’s still hesitant, but he trusts that James would stop Q if Q was getting himself in over his head. How is he supposed to explain this to Steve though? Alec doesn’t think he can just exactly go and say he was just kidding.

“Uhm, sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear. Superhuman hearing and all that; I tried not to, I promise,” Steve says from the bed, blushing. Suddenly Q’s phone call makes a lot of sense. Alec hadn’t even thought about Steve’s enhanced hearing. “Was that your best friend?” Steve asks, blue eyes shining hopefully. Alec nods. “Does that mean…” Steve trails off. Alec nods again, still lingering at the doorway. “Would you mind if I texted Tony and told him that his soul mate is married? Where is Tony anyways?”

“Go ahead. Stark left shortly after the medics declared you’d be fine, said he had things to do. Sorry about my outburst earlier. I’m just…can we start over again please?” Alec asks, desperately hoping his mate will forgive him and doesn’t think he’s crazy. Not that he deserves forgiveness. He shot the man then yelled at him the minute he woke up. 

“Sounds good. I’m Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America. Come over here so I can shake your hand? I don’t think I’m quite up to standing yet.”

Alec swallows the guilty lump in his throat and walks as fast as he can without seeming like he’s rushing. “Alec Trevelyan.” He shakes his mate’s hand and feels their bond spark happily. Alec can visualize it in his mind. It looks like sparkling, gold piano wire. “How are you feeling?” 

Apparently he must sound a little distressed because Steve smiles at him reassuringly. “I’m fine,” Steve soothes, gently placing his free hand on Alec’s neck. Alec leans into it, savoring the warmth of his mate. “It’s nice to know you can protect yourself. Although, that must’ve been some pretty strong poison; most of the time I’m immune to stuff like that.” Steve frowns and Alec thinks that this is it. His mate has finally gotten some common sense and is going to run for the hills.

“You’re not a bad guy, are you?” Steve asks and Alec sighs in relief, the tension leaving his shoulders. 

“No, but it sure feels that way sometimes.” Alec has done a lot of ‘bad’ things. He’s killed, tortured, blackmailed, and more. He still believes that he’s good, but only because he has to be, for Q. Q, who always looks at him with trusting eyes, who puts himself in Alec’s bloodied hands without a worry, who is more brilliant and innocent than anyone Alec has ever met, and says Alec is the best thing to ever happen to him. Alec is worthy of being Q’s best thing and that means he can't be anything short of amazing. Even so, sometimes he wonders.

Steve doesn’t reply, instead tugging Alec onto the bed, between his legs, and humming in soft agreement. Steve wraps an arms around his waist and Alec leans back into the embrace. Alec finds himself wishing he had Q’s sense of smell so he could drown himself in his mate’s scent. As it is, Alec can barely detect Steve’s scent under the smell of sickness and sweat.

He hopes that Q really does have a plan, a way to let Alec keep this without Tony Stark ruining everything. Alec knows that it’s just the bond at work, but he already feels completely relaxed and at home in Steve’s embrace. Normally, being so unguarded would worry him as he knows nothing about his mate, but he instinctively knows that Steve would never hurt him. Alec starts drifting off, the exhaustion of the past few frantic days of searching for Q catching up to him.

Steve’s voice brings him back. “I wish I could’ve done this right. Courted you with gifts and asked you out to dance, gotten to know you.”

Alec would laugh at the image of someone trying to woo him with roses and plush toys, but his mate sounds so wistful and sincere that Alec can’t help but feel his heart melt a little. “That how it was done in your time?” He knows the story about Captain America. Everyone does.

“They don’t still do that?” 

Alec traces the back of Steve’s hand. “Not really. These days they just skip to the fun part then get to the knowing each other bit.”

“The fun part?” Steve asks, sounding absolutely clueless. Alec grins.

“Let me show you.” Alec turns around, straddling his mate’s hips, and proceeds to kiss him. It’s an innocent kiss, just lips grazing lips. Alec’s hands never stray lower than Steve’s waist. It’s kissing for kissing’s sake. There’s no pressure, no worries, nothing but the simple pleasure of feeling Steve’s body against his and memorizing the way they fit together perfectly. Alec doesn’t know how much time passes like this, with their breaths mingling and their hearts beating rapidly but almost in sync. 

When Steve pulls back an inch, Alec chases him, leaning forward to compensate. He doesn’t want Steve to say something and bring them back to reality, where they have more problems than could possibly be fixed. Alec doesn’t know anything about Steve, not really, but this feels undeniably _right_ and he’d like to enjoy it a bit longer, before the facts build up and tell them that this is all wrong. 

Eventually, though, Steve pulls away, not far, but enough so that their lips are no longer touching. He’s flush with happiness and Alec grins. That is, until Steve says, “I liked that, but I’d like take it slow, get to know you.”

Alec rests his forehead on Steve’s shoulder so his mate can’t see the way his smile drains from his face. “Ya, sure. That’s fine.” Doesn’t his mate realize that the less they know about each other, the better? That the more they know each other, the more likely they’ll unearth something that’ll force them apart? 

Alec wishes that the stupid American saying 'don't ask, don't tell' applied to personal lives because Steve is going to ask questions and expect answers and Alec will have to answer them because silence is more incriminating than a lie and even harder to build a relationship off of.

\-------

“Well, that takes care of Alec and Rogers,” Q’s computer chirps. 

“Now we just have to take care of you,” Bond remarks. Predictably, the Omega stiffens at the words. Is it really so hard for Q to accept help? “Look, the bad guys are dead as of a few hours ago, but you and I both know that that doesn’t make you feel better, not really. I know I’m not your favorite person, but you’re going to crash soon and Alec isn’t here.”

“What would you have me do?” The voice is snarky anger this time. “Ask you for a hug and cry my eyes out, clinging to you the whole time?" Yes, he would. Because that's how any civilian would react to what he went through. One crying jag upon being saved doesn't count. "I may be an Omega, but I am not weak Bond.”

“Nobody thinks you are Q, but you’re not made of stone either. You're not infallible, and you don't need to act like you are. You killed a man today. He deserved it, but nobody comes out of that unshaken. You’ve seen even Alec come home shaken. ”

“That’s only when innocents are caught in the crossfire,” Q argues. "And I've killed men before. Just not so-" Q cuts off, and Bond knows that the man is recalling the kill, searching for the right description. Bond knows enough to picture how the kill had happened: messily, Q using his body like a weapon, pretending to want it, warm blood bursting onto his hands, and screams "-personally."

“The first time I killed a man at gunpoint I threw up,” Bond says, keeping his voice neutral. Q’s fingers twitch as if he’s about to say something, but his fingertips merely ghost across the keys so Bond continues. “I had nightmares a week afterwards. The first time I seduced a mark…well, that’s when I discovered my fondness for vodka.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Q asks, looking up at him.

“Because you seem to think that being weak for a single moment, once in a blue moon, makes you weak; that the reason you’re so shaken is because you’re an Omega when really it’s because you’re human. Because you're hiding from the world and tenser than a newbie agent on his first mission."

“What’s your point?”

“You're not okay.” And not just because of Stark or Rogers or even his kidnapping. Because he's always been volatile and angry, but now he's on the verge of self-destruction and angry at himself instead of some Alpha. 

“I can take care of myself,” Q huffs.

“But you shouldn’t have to. You don’t have to. How long has it been since you’ve ate? Slept a good night’s sleep?” Bond challenges. There are dark rings under the man's eyes and he looks ready to fall over in exhaustion. 

“Excuse me for not sleeping and eating well while being held captive!”

“You’re not being held captive anymore. We have a solution to Stark, Alec is happily bonding with his mate, and the people who kidnapped you are dead. There’s nothing keeping you here and away from a well-deserved rest.”

“You cope with alcohol, I cope with work.” It’s as much of an admission that Bond will ever get out of him.

He offers Q a hand. “Come on, I’ll take you home. You can take the offer now or I can wait until you collapse and then carry you out like you're some swooning maiden. If your flat doesn't feel secure enough, you can come to mine.”

Q stares at his hand for a long moment before the fight deflates out of him. “Fine, but you need help even more than I do if you think I'm ever stepping foot into your flat, happily fake married or not.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...this is somehow turning into Q/Bond. *Facepalms*

Bond stays the night, claiming it’s on M’s orders. Security, just in case the rat in MI6 had told anyone else. At that point, Q is too sleepy to even care. He fell asleep during the short drive to his flat and Bond almost couldn't get him to wake him enough to disable the intricate security system.

Alec doesn’t reappear.

Q spends the morning falsifying marriage documents and creating a history between the two of them, Bond by his side and revising as he pleases. They vacationed to Switzerland two years ago, where Q learned that Bond’s favorite type of chocolate is dark and even bitterer than the man. They took a cruise across the Caribbean half a year before that. The first time they met, Q fell off a coconut tree and landed on Bond. 

They started off as friends and became something more in Switzerland. From Switzerland on they have Netflix movie rentals for every Friday, ranging from romantic comedy to action, but never horror. Their first kiss was nothing special or romantic; it was stolen. They’d fallen asleep while watching “The Hunger Games” and Bond had woken first and taken advantage of Q’s defenseless state.

Bond has an exploding pen, a gift from their first anniversary. He has a bullet wound in his shoulder from the second, when he'd protected Q from some muggers. Q has a ridiculously large stuffed rabbit that takes up half of his flat when laid on its side from their first anniversary. Its arms look like boobs. From his second anniversary he has slashes across his ribs.

Q plants old CCTV shots of them walking down the street, holding hands and smiling at each other. Of course, it isn’t all as simple as writing a story and planting a vast credit card trail. They have to run around London like maniacs, shoving a camera at anyone who dares to look their way. After all, in order to plant CCTV images of themselves, they have to have pictures of themselves and they’re not going to walk in front of an actual CCTV. The cold wind musses up their hair, turns their ears bright red, and forces them to occasionally dart into cafes to warm up as they make their way through the streets. They order ridiculously sugary drinks and ask to have inappropriate images drawn into the foam at the top. They hit at least a dozen shops, changing half a dozen times, never twice in the same place. 

It’s not remotely romantic, but it’s fun, a distraction. They pick out wedding rings, get tuxedos tailored - Q refuses to wear a dress, as does Bond - and send out invitations. They order a ridiculous cake that doesn’t look remotely wedding-ish but promises to be rich and delicious. Bond and Q foist terrible outfits on each other, order the most ridiculous items on the menus of the restaurants they pass, and Q wins Bond a giant teddy bear from a carnival game. That day, Bond learns that Q knows how to handle a gun, even if it’s only to shoot balloons. 

Bond stays the night again because their fake wedding is tomorrow and they'll have to drive around and pick up their things. He wakes to the sound of Q screaming. Without anything left to distract it, Q’s mind finally broke down, the events of the past weeks finally catching up to him and latching their claws deep enough to score blood, even if only in his dreams. They leave Q so open and vulnerable that he’s willing to accept Bond’s steady presence. That night, Bond learns the way Q’s shoulders shake when he cries. 

He learns exactly what Q did to try to get himself free, how Q thinks it’s his fault and refuses to think himself a victim. Q waxes on about how Alphas are all the same, how they’re always so eager to stick their knots in something, no matter how great their personalities might seem. He says something about how Omegas might as well be Jesus for how easily they turn Alphas’ scents into wine. Bond doesn’t quite understand it, but he thinks that maybe this isn’t the first time Q has been traumatized this way. 

As morning looms Bond asks Q, “If you hate Alphas so much, why haven’t you kicked me out yet?”

Q looks up at Bond as if he’s stupid. “Because I’m not your type and you weren’t lying when you said that. I get the feeling that you either don’t like men, which is very unlikely given what I’ve seen of your proclivities, or that you, my dear Watson, are queer. Moreover, however eager you are to knot, you are pure vanilla. You like to entice and lure. An encounter without mutual consent wouldn’t be any fun for you. You like making people bend until they, against their best intentions, fall for you. Thus, I’m safe with you. Besides, you’re comfy. You’re Alec shaped.” Q leans his head back onto Bond’s shoulder to make a point.

Bond stares for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. “Do you really trust your sense of smell that much?”

Q laughs, which is a welcome change even if he’s laughing at Bond and his laugh is a bit throaty because he’s not fully healed. “Do you really trust your instinct that much?” Q retorts.

Bond narrows his eyes and grins predatorily. “My instincts tell me I wouldn’t mind going for a pretty little Omega like you even if I am queer. After all, you’d make a good chase,” he leers, mostly because he wants to see how Q will react.

Q just laughs harder. Bond would be insulted by the fact that Q has brushed him off as a non-threat if he weren’t so glad that Q didn’t react badly. It looks like Q is out of the rough. Not that Bond had ever doubted the fact that Q would be okay; he’d just been worried about the transition. “You don’t have to smell so relieved you know,” Q quips, jabbing Bond in the arm.

“Ya ya, I get your point. You’re a regular bloodhound.” Bond pushes Q off of him. “Now go hunt down breakfast.”

Q flashes his teeth as him and holy crap. Those canines could practically be fangs. Q grins when he sees the – deliberately – undisguised shock on Bond’s face. “I think I already found it.” Before Bond can say anything Q starts prowling towards him. Q stops when he’s inches away from Bond’s face, fangs bared. Bond is about to close the gap between them when Q cheerily says, “Just kidding!” Q bounces off the bed and starts changing, his back turned to Bond. “Anyways, you’re the Alpha, you go hunt something down. I can’t cook, and I can’t go outside without your escort until our wedding.”

Bond doesn’t stare, but he doesn’t pointedly look away either. “The minute this is over I’m divorcing you,” he grunts as he gets out of bed and ambles over to the kitchen.


	14. Chapter 14

“Your scent confuses me,” Steve says as he makes brunch for the both of them. Alec likes the sight of his mate in his kitchen. It’s domestic, even if the front door is still broken.

So far Alec has managed to dodge all the dangerous bullets; he’s managed to keep questions to things about family and hobbies and whatnot. “Your behavior confuses me,” Alec retorts in lieu of actually answering. Steve merely shrugs and slides an omelet onto a plate and hands it to Alec. “Thanks.” Alec takes a bite and barely manages to stop himself from moaning. It’s easily the best omelet he's ever had the pleasure of eating. Alec checks his phone as he eats, wondering how Q is holding up. He knows that Bond is looking out for him, but still. The two of them don’t get along very well. Alec has no clue if they'll be able to act friendly enough to pull of the fake marriage. They're probably bickering away even now.

“The wedding is tomorrow,” Alec says between bites. “Want to be my plus one?”

“You want me to come?” Steve asks, sounding genuinely surprised. “I thought…”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t want you to. And yes, you can tell Stark about it as long as you promise he’ll behave.”

“Thank you. I'd love to go with you. As for Tony, I can’t promise he’ll behave. I'd make him, but he’s not an Omega,” Steve replies jokingly, sliding next to Alec with a plate of his own.

Alec feels his blood boil at the words. _I'd make him, but he's not an Omega._ Any half-baked illusion about the two of them working out disappears. “Know what? I take that back. I don’t think this is going to work out. Thanks for breakfast. You can leave once you’re finished. You know the way out.” Alec spits the words out, not even attempting to hide the contempt he feels. Alec shoves himself off his stool and stalks away. 

“What the heck Alec?” Steve grabs Alec’s arm to keep him from walking away.

Alec loses it. He whirls on Steve, grabs his arm, and flips him to the ground. The bastard is heavy. Alec admits that he might not have a chance against his mate in a fair fight. So, instead of pinning the man down to the ground he retreats to the other side of the counter and into the kitchen, where there are plenty of weapons if he needs them.

“You’re disgusting,” Alec seethes. Steve recovers from the fall quickly and stomps into the kitchen, boxing him in.

“What did I do?” Steve reaches for him and he tenses, ready. Steve backs off at the last second and drops his hands back to his sides.

“You're an asshole. You think that just because Omegas are physically weaker than us that you can bully them,” Alec growls, ready to grab the knife behind him in case things go even more south.

“What? I don’t think that!” Steve protests.

“Really? Because it sure sounds like you do. ‘I'd make him, but he’s not an Omega,’” Alec quotes.

Steve winces and droops at the words, his broad shoulders slumping guiltily. “I didn’t mean that. Sorry, I…” Alec continues to glare. “I’m not an Alpha, but I have to pretend to be one so I say things like that and I didn’t think – “

“What do you mean you’re not an Alpha?” Alec asks. There’s no way that Steve isn’t an Alpha, not with that physique. Not with that asshat attitude. The guy thinks that just because he romances an Omega with some flowers and dances he has the right to slap them around. He's a bully, just like any other Alpha. The only difference is he disguises it a bit better and tries to justify it.

“I was born an Omega. The super soldier serum they gave me turned me into an Alpha, but I’ll always be part Omega on the inside. I’m told that people like me are called Betas these days,” Steve tries to explain.

“Prove it. Show me your soul mark,” Alec demands. 

“I don’t have one. I never got one. Probably because you weren’t born yet. But I’m not lying, I swear. Why would I? People hate Betas. I wish I were an Alpha, or even an Omega.”

Alec steps forward, into Steve’s space. “You’re pathetic.” He jabs a finger at the man’s chest, creating a tiny impression in the skin. “Pretending to be an Alpha doesn’t mean you talk shit about Omegas. There's no acceptable excuse for thinking less of people just because of their biology. And you know what? I like being a Beta. Fuck you and fuck what other people think.” Alec brushes by Steve and leaves before the man can gather his wits and stop him.

Some hero Captain America is. He’s afraid of his own identity. Take the mask off and what do you get? Another mask and a man terrified to take it off. 

\--------

The wedding goes smoothly enough. Bond and Q fake the kiss, breaths intermingling for the briefest of seconds before they pull back. 

Stark shows up, surprisingly sober, but doesn’t make a fuss. Although, that might have something to do with all the Double-Os eyeing him strangely whenever they’re not too busy eyeing Bond and Q strangely. Then again, with the way he’s staring at Q, he might not even be aware of their presence. He looks at Q as if he's sun, moon, and stars all rolled into one. Q looks away guiltily. 

Alec shows up alone and gets wonderfully drunk. Q wants to ask him what happened with his mate, but he never gets the chance. The whole event is a whirlwind, Double-Os gusts of wind that pull at Q and Bond’s lapels, silently demanding answers. Q is forced to dance with every single Double-O in a 200 mile radius, Bond playing his role and growling the whole time. By the time Q and Bond have gotten through the trials of dancing, cutting cake, and throwing a bouquet, Alec is gone.

Stark, however is not. The letters sprawled on Q’s ribs ache and his instincts scream at him to go to the man and let himself finally be claimed. Eventually, Q breaks down and walks towards Stark, Bond’s steady presence following him.

“Mr. Stark,” Q says, stopping ten feet away from him, a glass of wine in his hand and held close to prevent him from smelling Stark’s scent. He hates the smell of red wine, but it's better than getting swept up by his soul mate's scent. Biology is a terrifying thing. If he took a step closer he'd probably end up throwing himself at his mate. Even now he has trouble remembering why that would be a bad thing.

“Dav – Mr. Bond.” Tony replies, looking forlorn. “Congratulations on your beautiful wedding. Sorry if I’m a disruption, I just wanted to see you once. I’d like to apologize for anything you’ve possibly gone through because of your bond to me and wish you happiness.”

Q is caught off guard. That isn’t what he’d been expecting. His resolve to be cruel crumbles and he finds himself saying, “Thank you. Apology accepted. At least until you get yourself half-killed and incapacitate me in the process again. How did you find me?” 

Stark makes a sad, sort of smile. “I’ve been looking for a long time. A few days ago you touched a Starkphone and well – please don’t tell anyone – they’re all installed with a scanner of sorts. It’s nothing that would invade one’s privacy beyond scanning the user for a soul mark that looks like my name. If a match popped up I’d get an image and coordinates. Otherwise, the data gets deleted. When I got to the coordinates you weren't there, although your husband was. He warned me off, but I couldn't leave. I had to know that you were okay, that...” Stark trails off and shrugs.

So it wasn’t the kidnappers then. “I see. I’m sorry you had to go through all that trouble,” Q finds himself apologizing, his plans falling to pieces, crushed by guilt. Stark doesn't deserve this.

“Can I ask why?” Stark asks pitifully. The Omega in Q wants to whimper and nuzzle Stark’s neck until he’s happy again. He wants to beg for forgiveness, promise Tont that he'll never feel unloved ever again. Before Q can break to his biology, Bond appears by his side and runs a hand through his hair. The Omega in Q quiets and he leans against Bond in silent thanks.

“It’s nothing personal. I just never wanted an Alpha. I hated them all. Still do, aside from James. I have no interest in completing the soul bond. You should just forget about me Tony. Move on with your life.”

Tony nods and runs a hand through his own hair, mussing up the gelled spikes. “Ya, right. I guess. Just, here.” Tony hands a medium sized box to Q. Then, realizing that Q probably doesn’t want to come near him he looks at Bond for direction.

Bond nudges Q to full uprightness before stepping forward and taking the gift. He hands it to Q, who is looking at Tony thoughtfully. “Thank you, but why?” Q inquires.

“It’s yours,” Tony shrugs. “I made it with my Omega in mind. I didn’t know it was you back then, but it’s for you nonetheless.”

Q eyes the box. “Are you going to continue Stark Industries’ expansion into London?” It's an inappropriate question; wrong time, wrong place, but he has to know.

“Ya, it’s kinda too late to stop that train. Besides, Steve needs a home here now that he’s found his mate. Where is Steve anyways? Did he leave already?” Bond and Q share a look. 

“He was never here,” Bond answers.

“Oh. Anyways, it was nice meeting you. Don’t worry, despite the corporate expansion I probably won’t be in London very often. I won’t bother you. Best wishes.” With that, Tony disappears.

\-------

Tony sighs as he drives back to his hotel. What had he been expecting? For his Omega to leap off the alter and into his arms? 

David Bond. Tony had shown up, ready to object to the betrothal of his mate and all but steal him away, especially when he’d seen how gorgeous his mate was. Fae-like, with mischievous green eyes that sparkled with intense intelligence, he'd been better than anything Tony could've imagined up. But those eyes hadn't been directed towards him. They'd been glued to big, blond, and handsome and Tony knew he didn't have a chance. His Omega was in love with the man. That knowing, teasing smile would never be directed towards him. The Alpha in Tony had screamed at him to fight, to claim, but his mate had looked so peaceful, so content, that Tony couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even tear his eyes away and leave with his dignity. Every single cell in his body had rejected his commands, too caught up in his soul mate's gravity. But it was more than biology.

Tony had fallen in love with David – the man who had reduced him to a pathetic shell of an Alpha - in an instant. 

He shouldn't have come to London. Even more than before, he’s screwed. Now he’ll always know exactly what he’s missing when before it had just been a yearning for an unknown something.


	15. Chapter 15

James collapses on the couch the moment they’re back at Q’s flat. Q would second his motion, if he weren’t busy trying to puzzle out Tony’s gift. 

“Did he name you?” He asks his robo-kitty, petting its soft gray fur. It feels like a normal kitty would. The only reason he knows for sure it isn’t genuine, breathing, feline is because Tony had said he’d made it. _For my Omega, so he never gets lonely. With love, your soul mate, Tony Stark,_ the note had said. Q distracts himself from the sad guilt he feels by wondering what kind of coding the cat has. Is it simple like a children’s toy, an AI, or something in between?

“Nononononononono,” the car warbles, flopping around on its back before chasing its tail. A second later it jumps onto the counter and begins to squeeze itself into an empty cup that had been innocently sitting there.

Q is hit by a strange sense of deja vu. It takes him only a second to figure out why. “Oh god, Tony Stark programmed your behavior using cat videos, didn’t he?” The cat’s eyes widen, its mouth opens, and it stares at him, looking utterly surprised. “Well, that answers that. Nice to know he programmed you to look surprised every time I say something half smart. Time to find you a small box you can’t crawl out of. You’ll go in, like Stark programmed you to, won’t you?” Q is well versed in cat videos. After all, he’d planted endless hours of them onto the computers of some of the Alphas in Q branch.

“Nonononononono,” the cat insists, looking at Q as if he’s the crazy one.

Then Q wonders what else Tony Stark had possibly programmed it to do. Q coaxes it over and, under the guise of cooing and petting, examines it.

There are cameras behind its eyes. 

The sadness and regret that had been coursing through him disappear, replaced by something twisted and dark that possesses him to do something vindictive and cruel. The note and gift were just a ploy and he had almost fallen for it. For a minute there Stark had him thinking Stark might be different. Stark is just like any other Alpha. Why would he be anything else? He’d ruin Q if he had the chance. (Q never stops to consider that the cameras might only be there for innocent purposes like navigation and recognition.)

Q prowls over to the couch and snuggles up to James, making sure the cat follows him with its blue, glass-covered, camera eyes. “The cat is watching. Kiss me,” he mouths to James, making sure to keep his back to the cat. 

James raises an eyebrow then leans forward and whispers in Q’s ear, “Fake or real?”

He leans forward and presses his lips to James’.

\-------

Bond doesn’t dare to react beyond a slight movement of lips to let Q know that he isn’t opposed to the idea. He doesn’t want to scare Q off, to act like all the other Alphas Q has known by taking a mile when he’s given but an inch. He lightly presses back, but otherwise does nothing. His hands stay by his side even though they ache to trace the contours of the Omega’s body. Bond’s inner Alpha growls, _he’s yours now. Take him. Stake your claim, mark him. He’s ours._ Bond ignores it, backing away as much as he can without breaking the illusion that they're making out like any normal, happily just-married couple.

“Goddamnit James, kiss me like you mean it. You’re too old to be so shy.” Q’s eyes burn with anger. It reminds him that Q is doing this to spite Tony, not because he’s attracted to him.

That does it. Bond slides upright, simultaneously pulling Q into his lap in a smooth, deft move. His hand almost spans the entire width of the Omega’s back. Q is small and maneuverable; nothing like the Alphas Bond is used to. Yet, he’s just as feisty and even more demanding. Bond grins, ignoring the nagging bit of his brain that tells him that he’s taking advantage of the situation, of Q, like all the other bastard Alphas have. It’s far too easy to discard rational thought with Q’s soft, lean body pressed warmly - and seemingly more than willing - against his.

Q bites Bond’s bottom lip in an impatient, sassy nibble and Bond nips him back in mock irritation. Before Q can protest or bite him again, Bond’s mouth is on his in light, teasing kisses. He pulls away and growls when Q presses forward. Q obviously wants this to be brutal and punishing, to use it as an outlet for his anger, but Q doesn't get to control this. If Q is going to use him like this, they're doing it his way.

Q whimpers softly and Bond plays with the curls that brush the base of his neck to let the Omega know that he's not really mad, that he's just teasing. He tugs them softly and Q arches and gasps in response. Soon Q is growling and squirming closer, trying to take this up a notch. Bond nips him for his insolence before weaving a hand into Q’s silly, adorable, bird’s nest hair and tugging his head to the side. He presses a kiss to the Omega’s neck before biting and sucking lightly, barely harsh enough to bruise.

Bond is mindful of Q’s healing bruises and cuts as he leaves his own marks on Q’s body. He’s far more careful than Q who, needy and impatient, keeps trying to gain control of the pace and push himself too far, too fast. Bond slides his hands forward to cup Q’s face, tilting his head and pulling him into another kiss, just as innocent as the last. He manipulates Q with gentle insistence and Q makes small, happy noises that are half purrs, half moans. Bond has never heard anything so delightful; he endeavors to draw forth as many of them as he can. He rolls his hips, rocking Q’s body against his.

When Q twists and squirms in response, pressing himself against Bond, Bond trails his hands down Q’s neck and arms, catching his wrists and neatly pinning them against the small of Q’s back. 

Q’s reaction is nothing what Bond thought it’d be. It’s a thousand times better. 

Q arches his back and tilts his hips, letting out a breathy “Oh,” on a ragged exhale. Unlike an Alpha, Q doesn't fight back, he acquiesces. When Bond doesn’t allow him any give Q’s head falls forward to rest on Bond’s shoulder and Q huffs against Bond’s neck, nuzzling at it.

Bond tilts his head back up and kisses him gently on the forehead. Q is vibrating under his touch, looking absolutely wrecked. Bond can’t resist but to bite Q’s reddened ears. The Omega ducks his head in response, burying his face in the crook of Bond’s neck and shoulder even as he tries to worm closer.

“Who’s shy now?” Bond teases, feeling a little smug and accomplished.

Q looks up at him with pupils that are blown wide and swollen, pouty lips, color high in his cheeks. He looks utterly ravished and vulnerable. No one, no Alpha, has ever looked at Bond so wonderfully boneless and content from just a few kisses. He releases Q’s wrists and hugs him, stroking his addictively soft hair. 

Q makes a small whining noise in the back of his throat and snuggles closer. This time, Bond lets him, slowly lowering them so they’re comfortably lying on the couch. There’s a fine line between teasing for mutual pleasure (and out of petty jealousy) and being cruel.

“Q, what was that?” He asks, trying to keep his voice level and teasing and failing.

“I’ve never been kissed by an Alpha before,” Q mumbles, sounding even more wrecked than Bond feels. “It was wonderful,” he says, sounding a little awed. “Thank you.” Q wraps his arms around Bond’s neck and Bond presses another kiss to his cheek as a reward.

 _Good boy, so good for me. Beautiful. Thank you,_ Bond desperately wants – needs – to say, but he doesn’t. Because the second he does Q will be up in arms, out of his arms. So instead he lamely says, “You’re welcome,” and holds Q a little closer, a little tighter, wishing that this moment could last. He commits the moment to memory; every single detail from the soft puffs of Q’s breaths against his chest to the way the small twist in his stomach tells him he’s absolutely screwed, to the way his mind tries to rationalize that he should run for the hills because Q only allows him so close because Bond is supposed to be queer - not supposed to like Q, an Omega, this way - while the Alpha in him wants nothing more than for him to court Q with sweet words, tender kisses, and gifts fit for the best of nests.

The cat looks up at him from the floor next to the couch and Bond mouths, “Thank you,” at it, his silent words brushing the top of Q’s head.

\-------

Alec feels miserable. The alcohol does nothing to numb the steady glow of his soul bond that he’s too much a coward to break. He’s no braver than Steve.

Eventually, the bartender cuts him off and he leaves, not nearly drunk enough even if it’s hard to even take a step. He walks on autopilot and finds himself at Q’s flat. He hesitates, debating whether or not he should enter. He doesn’t want to ruin Q’s happy, fake, marriage day, which is why he’d left the processions early, but he needs his friend desperately.

By now he’s slightly sobered up and able to punch in the security code Q had given him without much trouble. The sight that greets him almost has him walking out, thinking he has entered the wrong apartment. Q is snuggling with James, who has a soft, indulgent smile on his face.

Stunned, he freezes and the door clicks shut behind him. Q raises his head at the noise. He looks completely dazed and thoroughly well kissed. He throws Alec a loopy grin and James gives him a curt nod. 

Alec completely sobers up in an instant. The nausea that rocks him has nothing to do with alcohol. The world has just done a complete one eighty and dropped him out of its orbit. Q is no longer his. Of course he isn’t, after Alec all but ditched him for a soul mate. And James is the best of men, the only person he’d ever trust Q with. If James likes Q enough to ignore, even accept, that he's an Omega and not an Alpha like James prefers...If Q likes James enough to get over his hate of Alphas then...

He shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t have interrupted them. It’s not fair to Q that he came running back the second he found out that his mate is an idiot. Q isn’t a backup plan, Q is – 

“C’mere,” Q mumbles, half lifting a floppy arm in invitation before lazily letting it drop back onto James, who playfully mock grunts. Q giggles and Alec approaches, raising an eyebrow. He kneels down next to the couch.

“Q, are you okay?” Alec asks, poking his friend lightly in the arm. This prompts another bout of giggling. It’s both adorable and extremely alarming.

“Mhm!” Q tugs at Alec’s sleeve, obviously wanting him to squeeze onto the couch as well. There’s no way the three of them are fitting on that dinky thing. “Migh’ be a little drunk,” Q admits sheepishly. “James’ faul’.”

Alec turns to Bond, who mirrors his look of confusion. “Q, can you explain? If you do I’ll snuggle with you and Bond, but not on the couch. We’ll have to move to the bed.”

“Fine, but you have to carry me,” Q pouts. Alec nods and shares an alarmed glance with James. Q loathes being carried. “James’ vanilla,” Q states and then turns to lap at the base of James’ throat. Alec feels thrown for another loop. James isn’t vanilla at all. What is Q talking about?

Then he notices how James has gone tense. Alec isn’t sure if it’s because of Q’s actions or his words, but he’s guessing it’s the latter. James looks at Alec solemnly. “I think he’s talking about my scent. He says I smell like vanilla, which is supposedly enticing to Omegas.”

“You think he’s high on your scent and pheromones?”

James nods guiltily. “That, or he’s finally lost his mind.” Q sinks his teeth into James’ neck. “Ow! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. Stop please?” James pleads, although his grip on Q doesn’t tighten or change. He looks at Alec with haunted eyes even as he kindly indulges Q. Alec can practically hear James beating himself up.

“No.” Alec reprimands. “No you don’t. You don’t get to blame yourself for something you didn’t commit. You did not take advantage of Q. He’d only let his guard down and let himself get swept up in you, this, if he trusted you and wasn’t against it. Isn’t that right Q? You like James?”

Q lets go of James’ neck and nods, reaching for Alec. “Like you too. Come now?” Alec smiles despite his shitty day and scoops Q up. 

“Sure thing. I like you too.” Alec says as he carries his best friend the short distance to the bedroom. He gently sets Q down in the middle of the bed, divesting his befuddled friend of his stuffy formal wear and shoes before tucking him in.

“Missed you,” Q whispers, snuggling into the covers as Alec and James strip off their suits. “Wanted you happy though.”

Settling down on the bed next to Q, James on the other side of the Omega, Alec finds that he is happy. The two of them is all he’ll ever need. He doesn’t know why he ever wanted for something else.

“You make me happy,” Alec whispers back, giving Q the lightest of kisses. James’ arm rests next to his, atop Q’s waist. 

Alec looks at his oldest friend with uncertainty, not sure what this is, what it means, or where this is going. James merely smiles and orders him, “Go to sleep.”

His eyelids start to droop when he hears someone scream, “Nonononono!” He jolts awake and is about to burst out the room when James presses a hand to his chest and pushes him back onto the bed. “That’s just Nono, the cat Stark gave Q. I’ll take care of it. I’ll be back before you know it.” Alec closes his eyes and drifts to sleep, Q's warmth and James' words a steady assurance that everything is more than okay.


	16. Chapter 16

Q wakes up to the scent of tea, vanilla, cotton, and the press of warm bodies against his. They’re firm and familiar, yet something nags at him, telling him that something is wrong.

“Q? Are you awake? We’re starting to get worried. It's almost noon.” It’s Alec’s voice, but Alec is supposed to be off with Rogers. Q blinks his eyes open and stretches, disturbing the limbs that had been wrapped around him.

“Alec?” He mumbles, wondering if this is a dream. That would explain why he has more limbs that usual. A hand pulls him upright and another passes him a mug of Earl Grey. He takes a tentative sip. It’s the perfect temperature. He closes his eyes and lets out an appreciative moan, leaning into the body of the god that had handed him the best tea he’s ever tasted. “Thank you Alec.”

Alec chuckles and Q can feel the vibrations. “Not Alec.” Q tilts his head and bites Alec’s neck. He hates it when Alec messes with him in the morning when he isn’t quite awake.

Instead of cotton candy he tastes vanilla. 

“Wha-? Bond?” What is Bond doing here? “Where’s Alec then?” Q asks sleepily, deciding that he must need more tea.

Bond chuckles again, ruffling Q’s hair. Q would bite him again if he weren’t too busy inhaling caffeine. “Alec is right in front of you.” 

Q lifts his head, and sure enough, there’s Alec. Q sets the tea down and tackles Alec to the bed. “Missed you,” he mumbles into Alec’s shirt.

“I know. You told me last night.”

Q blinks. Last night? Last night he had…Oh. Q can feel the heat that rushes to his cheeks at the memory. Had he really acted like a giddy, wanton Omega? Q buries his face into Alec’s shirt in mortification.

“Tell me I didn’t actually – “

“You did,” Bond quips. “It was a pleasant change from how you normally are.”

“Shut up. This is all your and your stupid Alpha pheromones and whatnot’s fault. This changes nothing Bond.”

Bond grins. “Last night I was James. And why can’t it? You obviously enjoyed it.”

Q turns and glares. “Surely you’re joking. I was half out of my mind.” Q is about to shower Bond with insults when he notices the way Bond visibly recoils at his words. Q schools his features to be decidedly neutral and says, “Please tell me you’re not that stupid. You did not kiss rape me or whatever you’re thinking you did, you idiot. Stop insulting both me and yourself; I’m not that easy to take advantage of. If anything, I took advantage of you. Where is that camera cat anyways?”

Bond doesn’t look quite convinced but he says, “I put Nono in the laundry room where she can’t get into anything. What do you mean camera cat?”

“You named her Nono? Nevermind that, she has cameras in her eyes. They might transmit back to Stark. That’s why I kissed you yesterday. And Bond, you can’t just stick my cat in the laundry room! The poor thing.”

“It’s not even real, Q,” Bond drawls.

“Just because _she_ is made out of metal and code doesn’t mean she’s not real! Next mission you get, I’m sending you off with a toy gun so you can learn the difference,” Q threatens as he goes to retrieve his ill-named cat. He isn’t actually sure if the cat is a girl, but he hadn’t seen any boy bits on it so he figures calling it male would be a bit unfair to it.

The poor thing is curled in a corner, shivering and mewling pathetically, when he finds her. He scoops her up and brings her back to the bedroom, where he sets her down on a pillow. “Look what you did!” He accuses Bond, but the second the words leave his mouth the cat is attacking Alec, claws ripping at his unclothed torso.

“What the hell?” Alec screams as he pulls it off of him by the neck, losing skin in the process. Q grabs the cat from him and holds it tight, bracing himself for sharp claws. They never come.

He taps the cat on the forehead. “Bad cat.” Maybe it’s programmed to attack anyone that isn’t Q? Except Bond didn’t seem to have any problems. Maybe… “Nono, this is Alec. He’s a friend. No more clawing him, okay?” The kittybot looks up at him, as doubtful as a cat could ever be. “Yes, he’s a friend. Now go apologize.” Q sets her down gingerly, prepared to recapture her if she springs on Alec.

Instead, Nono slinks up to Alec, groveling and mewing woefully. She butts his shin with her head apologetically. When he doesn't reciprocate her attention she stands on her hind legs, begging to be picked up. 

Alec picks her up with some apprehension but is soon cooing over her despite the fact his chest is in ribbons because of her. He always did have a soft spot for cute things.

“James, go down the street and buy something to patch Alec up?” Q asks. Bond nods and leaves the room, allowing Q to shove him to the back of his mind and focus on Alec. “What happened with Steve?” 

“Just another asshole Alpha, although he tells me he’s a Beta. Despite the fact that I’m a Beta as well, he’d probably treat me like an Omega, no offense.”

“None taken.”

“He could do it too. I might as well be an Omega to him, with how much stronger he is. I don’t suppose you know how to make super soldier serum?”

Q shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, pulling himself up to Alec and petting the Beta's hair.

“Me too. So, you and James huh?”

Mindful of the cat, Q drawls, “Very funny.”

“Well, the two of you look good together.”

Q snorts and plops his head onto Alec’s lap. “Of course. I could make anyone look good.”

Alec sets Nono down on Q’s chest and runs his fingers through Q’s hair. “Just don’t break him, okay? He has a soft spot for you and feels guilty about last night.”

Q tilts his head to get Alec to knead a little bit to the left and moans happily when Alec takes the hint. “What would you have me do?”

His friend gets a stupid, scheming grin on his face and Q knows what he’s thinking. That won't do at all. “Sic him Nono!” The blasted cat just looks at him, tilts her head, and mews questioningly. “If you’re not going to make yourself useful, then leave.” He orders, pointing at the door. The cat meanders out and Q is about to drag himself out of Alec’s lap to close the door when the door slams shut. Well. 

“That cat…” Alec starts then stops before he can get off track like Q wants him to. “Anyways, why not? You're married to him. And didn’t he help you through your heat?”

“He gave me suppressants the night you shot Steve and the marriage is fake. It only appears to be real in any database you could ever find it in. As for why not? For one, he’s queer. For two, for all that he’s queer, he’s still an Alpha.”

“Does it really matter that he’s an Alpha or that he’s queer?”

“Of course it does!" Q protests. "Alphas are – “

“Except James isn’t and you know it. You have to get over your phobia of Alphas. Q, I love you, but he doesn't deserve to...he’s the one person I’d trust you to. I can’t always be there for you. I want to, but…”

“Even now, the bond is calling to you isn’t it?” Q asks sadly. “You didn’t break it.”

Alec’s hands still. “I couldn’t. Not after…I thought I’d never get one, you know?” Q twists so he’s sitting upright and presses a kiss to Alec’s temple. Alec recoils from the touch and Q launches himself out of Alec's lap. 

“The bond?" Q asks sadly. 

Alec nods. "I think so. I felt a little nauseous when you were in my lap, but I thought that might just be my hangover. When you kissed me though, I felt a shock." 

His touch makes Alec physically sick. Q feels like someone has just pulled the rug from under his feet. This is his fault. If he hadn't gotten kidnapped, hadn't used a Starkphone... "I’ll make you all the weapons you’ll ever need against him and you still have the gun if things get bad,” he offers, because violence is always a solution, the only he can offer. “There are more experimental bullets and antidotes in my office if you need them. But maybe he’ll listen to reason. After all, Bond isn’t the person I thought he was. Maybe – “

“Aha! I knew you liked him,” Alec interjects, changing the topic. 

“He’s…okay,” Q admits reluctantly. Of course, that’s when the door opens and Bond walks in, the cat following him. Q hadn’t even heard the front door open. There is a definitely a downside to surrounding himself with spies.

“Who is okay?” Bond asks, passing Q a plastic bag full of gauze and bandages. 

“Nobody,” Q huffs as he starts to patch Alec up. “Maybe Stark, depending on what I find when I analyze Nono,” he lies on the spot. The cat hisses and darts under the bed at the words. Maybe he’ll do it once she runs out of batteries? Does she even run on batteries? “I may have overreacted yesterday. She might not even be relaying any information to Stark. The cameras might be there purely to function as eyes," Q elaborates, selling the lie. Now that he thinks about it though, it's entirely plausible.

“Is that regret I hear?” Bond asks. His tone is as light and joking as it ever gets, but Q knows that he’s dead serious. 

Q takes his time wrapping Alec up - being careful to not touch Alec more than necessary and accidentally set off his partially-formed bond - mulling over what he should say. Bond doesn’t deserve to feel guilt when Q has been the one taking advantage. Q hasn’t been fair to Bond, who, despite treating Q like any other Omega would love to be treated, has never given Q reason to doubt his intentions (aside from when he’d first become Q, but that was understandable). Even Q's instincts trust the Alpha, if last night is any indication. Bond has been nothing short of angelic. Q has acted more like an asshole Alpha than he has. Yet, short of actually instigating something, Q has no idea how to convince him of that. Even if he does start something Bond might take it the wrong way. Q isn’t exactly sure what the “wrong way” would be; old fear mixed with new clouds his judgement.

He looks up at Alec, who has a not-so-silent plea in his eyes. Q knows what he has to do. This is his fault and he has to fix it.

Not that it'll be a hardship. Bond hadn’t been a bad kisser, not even close. Q hadn't been lying when he'd told the Alpha it'd been wonderful. Q isn't attracted to Bond in that way, but the idea of kissing him is pleasant enough (or at least it would be if he didn't have a phobia of Alphas and wasn't scared of losing his first _hopefully_ real Alpha friend). He can do this. Anything to get rid of the remorseful air looming around James and stop him from thinking Q is some blushing Omega. (Even if he had been one last night.)

Q takes a second to summon his courage then turns to Bond. “Please, James. The only thing I regret is not remembering it all clearly." Q smiles coyly, prowling over to the Alpha. "Perhaps you could jog my memory?”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more Q/Stark. I promise. It's just taking a while to get there.

Alec’s breath catches in his throat. He hadn’t been lying earlier; Q and James look bloody amazing together. Objectively speaking he knows that it can’t look that much different from when he’s with Q, but it’s not nearly the same. He has never been able to just _watch_ Q. He _has_ watched James before, but James has never been like this. James, usually unerringly confident and controlling, is hesitant and unsure of himself around Q.

Q fits perfectly into James’ arms. Alec expects the sight to set off some sort of jealousy, for it to bring out his Alpha side grumbling and snarling, but more than anything, he feels content. Well, almost content. He stealthily shoos the cat out of the room and shuts the door. Then he turns to back to his friends.

“James, if you don’t kiss him like you mean it, I will. There are _preteens_ who make out better than that,” Alec threatens. His bond shimmers in his mind, protesting the thought of him kissing someone that isn’t Steve.

He ignores it, silently sliding up to the two and nuzzling his Omega’s neck, whispering advice into his ear. “If you really want him to lose control then take it from him. He loves fighting for it.” Alec nips Q’s ear and grins when his friend wriggles in response, then winces when his stupid bond lashes at him in protest of his action.

Q presses against the Alpha and makes an aborted attempt to for dominance. He slips his tongue into James’ mouth and tries to shove him down onto the bed while he’s distracted, only to end up pinned to it. Alec backs off, grinning despite the fact part of him is keening to go find Steve and apologize for cheating, which is ridiculous because first of all he hasn’t even done anything and secondly he doesn’t owe that asshole anything.

Q grins up at James, eyebrow cocked. “Finally going to do something? I’m starting to get bored.”

James growls and grinds against him in response. Q’s eyes widen and he lets out a breathy gasp as James begins seducing him in earnest. Alec knows (from a single drunken experience) that it would be wonderfully easy and pleasurable for Q to just let go and enjoy the ride. Instead, the Omega gives as good as he gets and continues to make increasingly devious attempts to get James on his back. 

It’s far more endearing than it should be, really. At least it is to him. He’s sure it’s driving James out of his mind. He’s also pretty sure that James has more than a soft spot for Q. But Alec isn’t sure if Q could ever reciprocate.

Alec loves his friend, but the Omega is as prickly and paranoid as it gets. The only reason he’d ever managed to befriend Q was because he is a Beta. (Q is the only reason he has ever been thankful for this fucked up body of his.) He suspects the only reason Q ever let James get this close to him is because Alec was gone, he really needed somebody, and he figured out James is queer and therefore a non-threat. There’s no way this could ever end well, no matter how much Alec wishes it would.

A few minutes later Q slips out of James’ grasp and sits up. “See? I’m completely capable of not losing myself in a haze of hormones and pleasure. The only reason I did last night was because I trust you.” Q leans forward and gently presses a kiss to James’ right cheek, just below his eye. He puts his hands on the sides of the Alpha’s head and presses their foreheads together. “As much fun as fighting with you is, I find that getting swept up in your Alphaness is more fun. If I’m going to kiss an Alpha, it better damn well feel like I’m kissing an Alpha.”

James looks at him, confused. “What? I thought you hated Alphas. Why would you want to-“

Q cuts him off. “It’s complicated.”

Alec chuckles. “I don’t think you can possibly describe your feelings for Alphas with one word. Unless it’s German. They might have a word for it, but even then you’re pushing it.”

“Don’t worry James. My feelings for you aren’t that complicated,” Q assures, sliding back up to Bond and rubbing his cheek against the Alpha affectionately. Alec inwardly groans. There’s no way James is going to get the right message. 

“Like that of a cat towards a scratching post,” James drawls lightly, patting Q on the head. Alec almost sighs in relief and Q hums contentedly. “Tell me again exactly why I’m letting you put me through this?”

Q huffs. “Because you’re still hedging for that Aston Martin.”

James' face lights up. “Does that mean I-“

“Hah, no. You get me. Well, sort of. Is that not enough for you?” Q asks teasingly. Alec wonders if James can hear the need for approval in his question. After all, James hardly ever deals with Omegas. The last Omega he interacted with outside of mission capacity was Vesper.

“It’s plenty,” James replies, smiling. “You know, when I married you I didn’t know my matrimonial duties would include giving you your daily fix of Alpha.”

“Please, you like it. You might be queer, but your biology is the same as any other Alpha’s. The only difference is you don’t want to fuck an Omega at the end of it.”

“Something like that,” James replies. “Is that what it’s like for you?”

“Something like that.”

\-------

It’s always there under the surface, the need for an Alpha’s touch, approval, and affection. He’s never let himself indulge, not since college. Alec muted the need, but he didn’t satisfy it. If anything, he made its presence even more obvious. Whenever they’re together it’s always there: a tiny reason why the two of them aren’t perfect for each other.  
Q probably doesn’t give Alec everything he needs either.

He hates himself for these needs. He convinces himself that they’re mere wants, something he can ignore. They make him vulnerable; they compromise him.

But James has no need, no reason, to take advantage of his vulnerability. He’s about as sexually attractive to James and James is to him. Not once has James' scent wavered from its normal vanilla. This could work. Maybe. A little mutual non-emotionally invested cuddling has never hurt anyone.

It won't change anything else. He’s still going to take suppressants. He still won't ever mate with an Alpha, not even James. Alec will still leave them for his soul mate, no matter what he says now. And Q knows that there’s no way he could ever stop or save Alec. 

Because biology.

_It's a scary thing._

That reminds him. "If you try to scent or mark me or anything I will end you."

"Wouldn't dream of it. My duty is merely to be a friend, fake husband, and stroke your Omega ego at the appropriate times. In return for my services to the Queen and the kingdom I get 140 pounds of angry, abusive Omega."

"I'm glad you know your place for once," Q quips in reply.

In retrospect, he really should have known better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently German is known for having words that describe complex emotions. Have a fun link!
> 
> http://matadornetwork.com/abroad/20-awesomely-untranslatable-words-from-around-the-world/


	18. Chapter 18

The media goes insane over Stark Industries’ abrupt expansion into London. Rumors fly and interviews are promptly set up to deny them. When the world asks Tony if his Omega is in London he sadly looks at the cameras and replies, “I thought you all knew. My Omega is dead.” Q feels a sad twinge at the words. He knows that any Omega in the studio with a half decent sense of smell could probably smell the lie. Then again, Tony seems like the kind of person who’d figure out some way around that. Anyways, the rumors disappear, buried under the shitstorm that ensues when people figure out that Captain _America_ is staying in London even when Stark is returning to America. 

They dig up Captain America’s past and internet takes him apart bit by bit, televised footage turned into gifs with captions that argue what he is. As if televised footage could actually shed light on a person’s nature.

Captain America lies at multiple press conferences; he doesn’t even bat a single eyelash. He dismisses the ideas that he could be anything but an Alpha as silly. Then he ups the ante by declaring that his Omega is somewhere in London and that they're taking things slowly. When they ask about his Omega's whereabouts, he refuses to give them an answer, claiming that his Omega is shy and easily stressed.

Alex breaks a TV.

Nono gets taken apart. Q had been wrong about the cameras transmitting back to Stark. She is different from the average cat though. She’s designed to attack anyone who gets too close to Q that isn’t designated as friendly and she’s smarter than the average human despite the fact she’s programmed to act like a twit ninety percent of the time plus whenever Q is noticeably upset. Q can practically see Tony’s love and dedication towards engineering and the Omega he didn’t even know. Her coding and engineering are beautiful and thoughtful beyond anything Q has ever seen before. The only flaw in her design is that she runs on sunlight – Tony had probably imagined she’d be spending a lot of time curled up in the sun, which makes sense because, after all, she is a cat – and they live in London. 

Tony does send a letter explaining the flaw though, using terms a ten year old (or James even) could understand. He offers to tweak her and make her run on an alternative power source. Q spends a stupid amount of time trying to figure out what to say to this man who didn’t deserve the hardship Q put him through. Eventually, he just politely declines, thanking him for Nono, apologizing for everything he has put him through, and saying that James knows someone who can figure something out.

Q carefully reconstructs Nono. She learns to latch onto Starkphones and steal their batteries, among other things. (He won’t ever admit it, but he does this out of fondness. In the back of his mind he wonders if Tony will ever catch wind of it and figure out it’s Nono.) Alec asks him to make a more weaponized version of her. He refuses; to do so would be utterly disgusting. However, he does edit her programming so that she hates Steve Rogers. Her claws might also receive a modification as to be slightly poisonous to super soldiers even though she isn’t weaponized, but that's neither here nor there.

Q and James continue to pretend to be married, much to the amusement of everyone in MI6 who knows better. They give the most ridiculous of gifts during a surprise, belated, bridal shower in Q branch. Q makes sure the gifts are handed to James, not him. He is _not_ the bride.

They actually put some of the gifts to good use. A hefty portion of them, with a little jury rigging, make respectably interesting explosions.

James and Q do nothing more fumble around like teenagers in the dark, minus the actual fumbling. James still sleeps around on and off missions and Q still takes suppressants (Alec’s bond, which he refuses to break, prevents him from doing more than hugging Q unless he wants to become sick). Even so, Q’s days are full of sharp clarity, as if his mind has always been fuzzy and James brings everything to view so clearly into focus he feels like can almost see through the world. It’s almost ridiculous how much healthier he feels just for giving in to his biological needs.

James, it turn out, does not know his place. He stealthily worms into Q’s life and works his way into the tiny alcove that is Q’s metaphorical heart. No, they’re not lovers, but they’re not exactly friends either. They drive each other mad to the point where the walls sometimes shake. They destroy each other mercilessly; when they fight they dredge up old wounds and carve out new ones in places far deeper than skin. They hate each other's guts for making them feel so vulnerable. They _crave_ each other like mindless drug addicts and every hit makes them that much more desperate for the next dose. They can't step away from one another long enough to take a breather and calm down, let alone lick their wounds. They become the messy remains of two formerly operational people, so fragmented that they need the other to properly function.

Some of it is biology, but even Q knows that there’s more to it. They dance on pins and needles, weaving their ways through fine lines. Somewhere along on of those lines James stops taking long missions. After all, even the best of drugs have side effects. A mere month without meeting leaves steady hands trembling.

There’s no easy explanation for it, no out. They’re not even a bonded pair; their limbs shouldn’t quiver for each other. It’d be all too easy to dismiss it all by saying that this is what happens when you deny something so powerful for so long, but this time it isn’t biology. It’s feelings that they don’t want to voice because the balance that they find in each other is precocious as it is precious. 

They’re both content in this insanity, which is a lot more than either of them has ever dared to ask for. Alec gently pushes and prods whenever he isn't mediating their fights, but neither of them budges. This is enough. They’re all greedy people, but even James knows when to fold instead of call.

There are moments of peace; hours spent curled together on the couch, Nono in Q’s arms, purring happily, Q in James’ arms, absentmindedly losing himself in the Alpha’s scent, and Alec on the couch next to them, complaining about whatever movie they’re watching. But most of the time it’s a whirlwind of madness; missions not going as planned, Alec moping around or gone because he takes every mission he can to avoid London, _Steve_ , Q experiencing depression that isn’t his, espionage in the workplace, James infuriatingly treating him like he's glass, and Q screaming at 006 and 007 to take the damn left – the other left - and come back home to him in one piece.

One day Q doesn’t scream loud enough.

He can’t. The words lodge themselves in his throat.

Like the bullet does in James.


	19. Chapter 19

Q watches the screens in horror as the cameras he has hacked into display - from multiple angles - what is surely the death of James Bond. 

“James?” He asks, voice a mere whisper, more unsure than ever. There’s too much blood; he can’t guess as to where the bullet pierced James. The shot came out of nowhere so he can’t calculate the trajectory either. If the bullet hit the larynx or trachea then James needs medical help immediately. If it severed the carotid artery…

Q’s hands almost tremble. James slowly pulls himself off the ground and grimaces at the camera, a hand pressed to the wound. Gunfire continues to chip at the wall he has taken cover behind. His blue eyes are starting to get cloudy, but even so, Q can read the message in them. 

“I love you,” Q whispers. Then, louder, “I’m not letting you die James. You’re not ruining my mission success rate.” 

But even as he says that, he knows there’s not much he can do. James is without a weapon on a cruise ship off the coast of Ensenada. They don’t have any operatives there and the U.S. coast guard isn’t an option. He could blow up the ship, but James is in no condition to get to the nearest life raft and jump deck. Even a helicopter would take too long.

Q sets off the ship’s alarms in hopes of distracting James’ pursuers and prays and begs whatever deities there are to somehow get James home safely. Then he realizes he’s pleading to the wrong people; Tony’s Malibu home is probably less than an hour away from James’ location by Iron Man suit. An hour is a lot of time, but it’s James (he’s tough, or so Q hopes) and it’s his best chance.

“Everyone, call any Stark Industries number you can get your hands on and demand to talk to Tony Stark. Tell him it’s David Bond and that it’s urgent,” Q orders, fingers flying. He doesn’t know Tony’s number so he sends an e-mail to every address he can get his hands on. He starts hacking into Stark Industries’ databases, but it’s too slow. He can’t find it.

Q looks from screen to screen, mind flying too fast to really comprehend anything he reads. Q knows that he’s starting to panic, but if he can’t get through then James will-

“I got him!” Someone yells out, running towards Q and waving a Starkphone. 

Q snatches the proffered phone out of the man’s hand the second it’s in reach. “Tony I’m begging you. Please save James. He’s on a ship off the coast of Ensenada and he’s dying and-”

\-------

“Why should I?” Tony interrupts. When Jarvis had alerted him that a matter required his presence immediately, Tony hadn’t imaged his – not his – Omega would be involved. After all, why would he? David had pretended to marry someone in order to send Tony a message. (Tony had hacked into every secure database in Britain to figure out who his Omega is. He still isn’t sure. There was data on James, and even on Steve’s mate Alec, but there was none on David. Even so, he knows that there’s no way the two are actually married. Most likely David is James’ higher up.)

Of course it isn’t a pleasure call. He’ll do it of course, but he needs something, a solid reason for being the idiot that he is.

He isn’t expecting the desperate plea that answers. After all, the David and James aren’t actually married. “I’ll do anything. _Anything._ Just, please. Time is running out. I’m begging you. Save James. He needs medical help immediately. A bullet hit him in the neck and we don’t know how bad it is.”

Tony is already suited up, flying south with a bag of medical supplies in hand by the time Q says, “Anything,” a second time. “Ship name? Coordinates?” He asks even though Jarvis is already working his way into MI6’s systems.

“ _Imagination._ It’s at 31.543138, -118.287048 and currently moving southwest at a 97 degree angle. Is there any way I can patch my info through to you instead of you hacking into my systems?”

That’s the ship that Natasha and Clint are on. “Ya, send everything to Jarvis through my e-mail. TonyStark@SI.net.” Immediately Jarvis is pulling up blueprints and patching Tony through to Natasha. 

“Tony? I’m a little busy here.” There are alarms ringing in the background.

“Natasha, I need a huge favor. One of my friends is on that ship and he got shot in the neck. You have to save him.” 

“Description?”

Jarvis pulls up a picture, but Tony doesn’t really need it. Here’s no way he could ever forget the face of the man his Omega chose over him. 

“Blond, tall, gruff, old, British, and I’d imagine bleeding heavily,” Tony supplies and Natasha lets out a violent string of Russian that he is pretty sure means terrible things.

“I just shot your ‘friend’. If I save him it’ll blow the whole operation. How do you even know that he’s still alive?”

“Then blow the operation. He’s MI6.”

“Stark, we’ve been working this for months.”

“Please Natasha.” 

_"I’ll do anything,"_ Q’s voice rings in his mind. 

“You owe me an explanation later,” She says, sighing. “How long until you arrive?” 

“Thanks Natasha. I’m in the Mark 62, so about twenty more minutes. I have medical supplies. I’ll give him a heads up. Give me a minute and you’ll be good to go.” 

Jarvis helpfully chimes, “I’ve already informed David that Natasha and Clint are friendlies and David reported that James has been alerted but is quickly fading. I've also taken the liberty of informing Dr. Banner of the situation. He's coming in the Quinnjet and will arrive in approximately an hour.” 

\------- 

James stares at the camera, knowing the Q is watching. This is their last dance and he can’t even summon the strength to say, “I love you too, you idiot.” He has a lot of last words he wants to say to Q and a few for Alec too. 

__He wishes he could see them one last time, but he knows that once would never be enough. Not when it comes to Q. And Alec would never let him go._ _

__“James you’re going to live,” Q says through the com and James would love to believe him, but he knows it’s not the truth. Still, he smiles weakly for the camera, for Q. “We have two friendlies on the ship and they’re going to help you. One of them is a woman with red hair, the other is a man with a bow. They’re commonly known as Black Widow and Hawkeye."_ _

__He isn’t really listening to what Q’s saying, if he’s being honest. He might as well be, at the end of it all. He lets the familiar sound of Q’s voice rush over him, remembers the ridiculous fight they once had over James’ tendency to be affectionate with Q in the mornings when the Omega is too sleepy and uncomprehending to retaliate._ _

__Q had “upgraded” his security system after that fight. James has a sliver of a scar on the side of his thumb where one of the flying knives had sliced him. He’d only been trying to hide Q’s glasses before the boffin woke up - Q is adorable when he can't find his glasses. He gets spitting mad, but can't do anything about it. It reminds James of a hissing kitten - when all of a sudden a flurry of knifes had sprung from the wall. When James had retreated back to the bedroom Q had sleepily smiled at him, all innocent guile, and snuggled up against him as if he hadn’t just programmed the house to kill him._ _

__It’s a nice last memory, but he wishes that, just once, he could have what Alec had with Q. With Alec, Q is sweet and teasing, pliant and deferring. Sometimes it felt like because of that, all that was left for him was vicious passion, anger, and snide remarks. He doesn’t begrudge Q for it; he enjoyed the thrill of having Q’s twisted cunning directed towards him. The fights were never short of explosive and Q challenged him in ways that nobody else did. It’s just that…it would have been nice if Q had surrendered just once, for Q to be his. (Q is no one’s. He knows this, but Q could have at least allowed him the illusion, if even for only a moment.)_ _

__Not that that’s fair. James had never surrendered, after all. He never even said, “I love you.” Now he never will. And that’s his one true regret._ _

__“007?” A voice asks, breaking him out of his reverie. He shifts his glance to the right and sees a red haired woman; the same one he’s pretty sure shot him. “We’re here to help,” she continues and James vaguely remembers Q saying something about help. It's hard to focus though, and he just wants to remember..._ _

__\-------_ _

__Clint gasps beside her as he fires off a hail of arrows at 007’s pursuers. “Natasha, he’s…”_ _

“Dragotsennyy?” She finishes in Russian. It’s the one word in Russian that Clint knows. She calls him dragotsennyy whenever she can; when they’re not busy hiding his Omega status from everyone but the Avengers or on a mission fighting for their lives. Clint nods and her blood goes cold. For a moment she considers killing the already dying man before her. She would, except she owes Tony, who wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, and she wouldn't be able to bring herself to explain, or even lie about, her actions. She'd be too proud of killing the man who threatened her relationship with Clint to cover it up. But that would mean admitting to the Avengers, to herself, that Clint isn't actually her soulmate. “Leave. Cover us from as far as you can,” she orders _her_ dragotsenny. “I don’t think he noticed. He’s barely conscious.” 

__Clint nods and fires off an arrow explosive enough to cause the ceiling to collapse and block off the corridor behind them before climbing the rubble and escaping through the hole he’s created._ _

__“What makes you so important?” She whispers to the man, running her fingers along his jaw. Her fingers come away red. “I could end you in an instant. Now, before you ruin us. There are so many ways I could kill you and you’re already dying.”_ _

__“Natasha, report?” Tony asks through the com, signaling to her that he’s about to land. She pulls back from 007._ _

__“Clint took out most of the pursuers and blocked the rest out. The hole he made in the roof is conveniently large enough for you to enter through. Your friend is unconscious, but still alive. Somehow the bullet didn’t hit anything major. He’s a lucky bastard.” In more ways than one._ _

__Tony lands beside her. “Bruce is coming in the Quinnjet. Meanwhile, me or you?” He asks, gesturing the agent._ _

__“Definitely you.” She replies, storming off and leaving Tony to patch up the agent. There’s already blood on her hands, but it’s not enough. Hopefully Clint left some of the hostiles for her._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha says "dragotsennyy" (precious) rather than Alpha or Omega because I imagine that before globalization different countries/cultures had different words to explain the phenomenon of soul mates.


	20. Chapter 20

“He’s safe,” Tony reports to David as they load an unconscious Bond into the Quinnjet. The ship is utterly wrecked, albeit still floating. Miraculously no passengers were harmed in the making of this rescue/mission gone wrong. “I’m going to bring him to Avenger’s Tower to recover. Afterwards, he’s free to go.”

“Thank you Tony. I’ll be on the first boat over. Expect me in five or six days. That is your price, isn’t it?” David responds, sounding both grateful and resigned.

It was, but now that he has time to think, taking his – not his – Omega hostage is no way to “woo” him, as Steve would put it. Especially if David is taking a boat just to drag things out. “You can fly you know. I’m not going to take you hostage or something the minute you step foot on America, Jesus. Concerning our bond, I'll come up with something to stop it from affecting us or binding us together. And no, that's not my price. Is that really what you think of me?”

The line is silent for a moment and Tony listens to the quiet background noise of Bruce bustling around Bond. Tony did a decent job of patching him up, but he’s no Bruce.

“I’m sorry,” David says at last. “It’s not that I think of you like that…it’s just,” David growls in frustration over the line, apparently struggling to find the right words. “You’re an Alpha,” he finally manages, as if that’s an explanation in itself.

“You have the world sorted into these neat little boxes and you can’t handle that I don’t fit into the Alpha one right, but you keep shoving me into it anyways because you don’t know what else to do. Is that it?” Tony guesses. It isn’t that hard to. After all, people have been labeling him as they pleased his whole entire life. He can almost hear David wince over the phone. “I’m not accusing you or anything,” he assures.

“No, you’re right. Although, the reason I’m not flying is because I dislike planes and helicopters, not because I’m stalling. I want to see – I want to be there as soon as possible, but it’s just not possible,” David explains.

Tony almost offers to fly him over via Iron Man suit, but that’d just be pathetically desperate. Then again, he’s allowed to be. _“Anything,”_ David had said. What has he always wanted, more than anything?

A chance.

Apparently he says it out loud because David goes, “What?”

“That’s my price. You give me a chance.”

“And exactly what does that entail?” David asks skeptically.

The thing is, Tony isn’t sure. “We can figure that out later. Anyways, don’t worry about it. Just focus on getting here and whatever bureaucratic paper pushing you have to do. If you want, I can disappear while you’re here. The Tower is a big place and New York even bigger. Hell, I have a private jet and no fear of flying. Actually scratch that, Pepper got the jet in the divorce. I just have 74 - and counting - Iron Man suits, 73 of which are capable of flight. You can send me anywhere but Afghanistan. Or Antarctica.”

“You were married?” David asks and Tony snorts. As if Tony could actually somehow get away with marrying someone without the world blowing up with news of it. Not to mention being married to Pepper would just be…a lot of things: strange, scary things that Tony cannot unthink. “And why does the last one not fly?”

“No, the company. When she became CEO I gave her the jet as a housewarming gift. And it doesn’t fly because the Black Widow just broke it because she was mad at me.” Mad is an understatement. Tony still doesn’t know what about the rescue had pissed her off so much. He’s not sure he wants to, honestly. She and Clint had disappeared the second the Quinnjet had arrived to pick them up and their mission was over. How they’re going to get back to the tower without a jet or a boat he has no clue, but he isn’t going to question it.

“Oh. Well then.” David pauses for a moment. “Jets don’t fit in houses.”

“A fact easily remedied with the purchase of a bigger house.”

“I’m starting to think you got screwed over in the postnuptial.” 

“Please, I got screwed in the prenuptial. The only time I didn’t get screwed was while we were ‘married,’” Tony quips jokingly, only to realize that it’s true. Pepper had held him together pretty well despite not being his soul mate. But she’d found her soul mate and as much as Tony needed her, he wanted her happiness more. So he’d given her the keys to SI, as was practically her right despite the boards' protests about an Omega being in charge, and slowly eased himself out of her life. It hadn’t been hard with how caught up she’d been in the company, her mate, and everything else that had been going on at the time.

“I feel like there’s a story behind that,” David replies.

“Mine for yours?” Tony tries, hopeful. The curiosity has been eating at him for what feels like forever. 

“You asked for a chance, not a story,” David replies tersely. 

“Ya well, I’m known to be greedy.”

The line disconnects. Tony bangs his head against the wall. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Way to spook him, Stark.

\--------

The Avengers assemble around the tower’s kitchen table the moment everyone – minus Steve who is still in England and Thor who has princely duties to fulfill – is back and Bond is in the infirmary. Clint looks shaken and Natasha still wears the blood of her victims. If not for the fact that Fury’s holographic floating head is here and watching them all carefully, they’d probably be wrapped around each other. Tony feels both jealous and sympathetic. Jealous that he doesn’t have what they do and sympathetic because they have to hide what they are.

“What the hell were you thinking Stark?” Fury barks angrily. “That was an intricate, very important mission you just fucked up.”

Tony takes a deep breath. It’s now or never. “It was fucked up before I got involved, actually. The man Romanov shot is MI6. Good luck explaining that one to the British. They quite like their double-o agents intact.” He’s stalling and he knows it. “Anyways, we got the intel.”

“Romanov and Barton got the intel, but we lost our in. Answer the goddamn question Stark. Would it help to jog your memory if I mentioned the influx of messages and calls Stark Industries received from what I’m guessing is MI6 right before your little intervention? You and I both know you don’t harbor anything for MI6. Last I remember, you described their equipment as ‘sleek, but far too old fashioned and inefficient.’”

Tony winces and absentmindedly wonders if David would take offense to that. Exactly how high up is David exactly and what does he do for MI6? After all David had mentioned that he knew someone who could fix Nono’s need for sunlight.

“Stark, do you have somewhere else to be?” Fury is, well, furious. And impatient.

But that’s not what makes Tony anxious, what makes him tap his fingers against his arc reactor out of nervous habit. Fury is always furious, Natasha is glaring at him, promising death and Bruce is a mix of exasperation and moral support; this is nothing new.

“Ya.” With David. “No.” David doesn’t want him. Tony has to fix that. He has to fix – 

“Stark!” Fury roars.

“I have to fix my Omega,” Tony blurts. Then he realizes what he just said and throws his hands up in the air, backpedaling. “No, no I mean. I have to fix – My Omega is… well not my Omega, but I have a soul mate, sort of.”

Eyebrows rocket up. “Stark if you think your bullshit is going to –“ Fury starts.

“Tony is telling the truth,” Bruce intervenes. Tony shoots him a grateful smile. Or at least he tries to make it a smile. He probably comes off looking like a psychotic, stressed out killer instead.

“My Omega isn’t really dead like everyone thinks. He’s alive. I didn’t know he existed until recently,” Tony explains.

“Then why isn’t he here? I didn’t even know you liked men.” Clint pipes in, unhelpfully.

Tony is forming a glare when Natasha narrows her eyes at him. Angry Alpha chick alert. He immediately averts his eyes from Clint. “He’s married. The man lying in the infirmary is his husband.”

Even Natasha’s face softens at this. Fury looks like someone has just handed him the key to Tony Stark. Tony wishes that he didn’t have to tell Fury of all people, but it would’ve gotten out eventually, one way or another. Tony Stark does not get to keep many secrets when it comes to his social life. At least this way he can warn Fury off. “Fury, I swear to god if you every try to do anything to my Om – David, I will come after you. Not to mention MI6 and Steve.” Out of his peripheral vision he can see Natasha, Clint, and Bruce nodding their affirmation. “And everyone else too,” he tacks on.

Fury rolls his one good eye but doesn’t otherwise protest. “Just don’t screw up any more missions while trying to turn your one-sided love reciprocal.” It’s a low blow and they all know it. Bruce nonchalantly extends his right arm and hangs up on Fury.

“Tony, do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Bruce asks, concern with a sprinkle of sympathy.

“Other than making things worse? No clue. He’s coming over to see Bond. He’ll be here in a six or so days. Clint, you’re an Omega. What do Omegas like?”

Clint blinks at him and looks at him like he’s stupid. “Do I look like the representative for Omegas R Us?”

“There’s a place called Omegas R Us? Jarvis?” Tony calls out. He’s about to buy the company when Clint facepalms. “Clint, you’re a jackass. Seriously, I need help. He hates Alphas, but because we, well you guys, saved his husband he agreed to give me a chance and I really don’t want to fuck it up.” Tony is vaguely aware that he’s sort of spilling out his guts, but at this point does it really matter? Besides, he really does need help and it would help if Clint and Natasha didn’t bully David or something. Or you know, played wingman. Hawkeye should be a good wingman, right?

“I like weapons,” Clint supplies. “Especially my bow and the arrows you make me. The exploding ones are my favorite."

“Great, I’ll go design some guns and explosives for my Omega. That should win him over. While I’m at it, why don’t I make him a satellite that he can use to spy on and vaporize people whenever he gets bored?” Tony is torn between throwing is hands up in exasperation and burying his face in them in despair.

“Stop being such a drama queen.” Bruce pats him on the back. 

“Ya, he’s a married man anyways,” Clint chips in.

“Not helping Clint,” Tony mumbles.

“What? Do you want me to get you a drink? Would that be more helpful?”

“Yes, actually.” That sounds like a great idea.

“Please, I might be an Omega, but I ain’t nobody’s bitch.” Clint waves his index finger and sassily jerks his head side to side. Then he _prances_ out of the room, Natasha silently gliding after him.

“You know, Clint is right,” Bruce says from beside Tony. 

“Huh?”

“Don’t think of him as an Omega, but a person. Treat him like you would anyone else. Well, like you would any of your other friends,” Bruce advises. Tony raises an eyebrow. “Well, like you would…no, not Rhodey either…maybe Pepper? But with more paying attention and less being aggravating. Maybe how you treat me, minus the whole ‘I-want-to-provoke-the-rage-monster-within’ thing. I’m not sure he’d appreciate the violation of personal space, not to mention the prodding. Perhaps -”

“That reminds me, can you help me make something that’ll let us interact without hormones and soul mate stuff getting in the way?” Tony interjects, before Bruce can inadvertently insult him further.

Bruce sighs and adjusts his glasses, a picture of exasperation and weariness, but nods anyways. 

\-------

James wakes up to glaringly bright lights and a sensation of numbness that signifies that he’s on the good/bad drugs, the kind that slow his mind down and detach him from the world. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he really did die. Sadly, he’s used to the harsh glare of infirmary lights and doesn’t believe he’d end up in a place with florescent lights after death anyways. The red headed woman next to him looks very much like he’d imagine a female devil would look like. Satan, or a succubus? Either way, he’s currently at her mercy.

He wishes he had the strength to lift himself up or that the contraption around his neck would allow him to turn his head to get a better look. The Black Widow is infamous, and for more reasons than one. 

She rises from her chair and slinks to the foot of the bed, where James can see her more clearly. She’s the kind of Alpha he would have went for before Q: angry, beautiful, cunning, and dangerous. “You’re in New York. More specifically, in the infirmary of Avenger’s Tower.” Not hell then, at least not for him. For Q, maybe. Oh god, what has Q done? “It has been 33 hours since you were shot. Your mission, of course, was unsuccessful, but rest assured not all of us are failures as spies and the intel you were sent to retrieve is now in safe hands.” She glares at him. If he were a plant he’d wither in an instant or perhaps spontaneously combust into flames as bright as her hair. His throat is dry grit and he’s unable to rasp out response, unable to ask what price Q paid for him.

“You don’t belong here,” She continues. “Go back to England and never come back. That can be your repayment to me for your life.” It goes unsaid that she will collect, one way or another.

What he doesn’t understand is why. He’s heard of her, and she’s surely heard of him as they travel similar circles, but they’ve never ran into each other or interfered in each other’s work. She has no reason to hate him. Yet, there has to be a reason; the Black Widow is far from senseless. But what is it? The drugs in his system combined with his thirst make it hard to think clearly.

A strange, niggling instinct tells him it’s important…Then he remembers that the drugs don’t allow him things like instinct the same way they don’t allow him pain. They don’t do much when it comes to hydration though.

James lifts his hand and curls his fingers as if he were holding a shot glass. She gets the hint before he can mock tossing it back. The Black Widow is not known for being intentionally cruel, not anymore, not to those who haven’t knowingly committed grave transgressions. She walks – glides – around the bed and grabs what James presumes is a cup of ice cubes from the table next to his head. A second later she drops an ice cube onto his lips and he barely manages to open his mouth in time to capture it before it slips away. He gives her a small, grateful smile as it melts.

Several ice cubes later he knows that she’s running out of patience, so despite the fact he’s still thirsty he rasps out a rough, “Thanks. And I’ve no clue what I’ve done to offend you. Perhaps you could shed some light and I could offer my apologies or correct the situation?” 

Her glare, which had eased into a burning stare, comes back full force. “Some problems you cannot fix, only run from.” Her heels click deliberately against the floor as she walks towards the door. “And you and I both know that apologies mean nothing, James Bond.” She slides out the door, closing it with a sharp click.

A second later the door opens again and he’s bracing himself for death by Black Widow when a familiar face pops into view.

Tony Stark.


	21. Chapter 21

“I know you’re not really married to him, let alone mated,” the words come out, unbidden. Tony would take them back, but Bond smirks in a way that makes Tony’s fingers itch for a repulsor.

“Real enough that we never got divorced.”

Real enough that David was willing to trade what he thought was going to be his freedom to save Bond. Tony sighs. Provoking David’s husband probably isn’t the way to go. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want to. David is on his way here to see you.”

“By the time he arrives, I’ll be on my way out,” Bond drawls, sounding resigned. “What did he promise you in exchange for my life?”

“Anything.”

“If you do anything to hurt him or –“ Bond threatens. 

“It’d be within my right.” Tony interjects, because he’s a dick. An angry dick who just wants his – Tony shakes his head. “Sorry, I mean, I-“ Tony throws his arms up in the air, frustrated that he can't get the right words out. He knows that it’s just hormones and his inner Alpha talking, but he can’t help it (even though he should because he isn’t a teenager anymore). The instinctual part of him is pissed that he saved the Bond, the _competition_ , when he should be ripping the man's throat out or something. The honest part of him admits that it's partly just petty jealousy. He takes a deep breath and tries again. “I would never hurt him. What kind of asshole Alpha do you think I am? That was a rhetorical question. Don't answer that. Your glare says it all. Look, he’s not coming here for his me. He’s coming here for you. He’s just willing to tolerate me to see you. Happy?”

“As a clam. Pass me the ice cubes, will you? Whatever drugs you have me on are a bit debilitating.”

No surprise there. Tony refuses to keep anything but the good stuff. He glances at the cup on the dresser. It’s surprisingly empty. Someone must have been in here before him. He'll have to ask Jarvis about that later. Tony ambles over to the freezer and refills the cup, sparing a glance at the phials inside. “You still good on your morphine cocktail?”

“Why the hell you're injecting me with morphine mixed with sedatives I don't know, but I can barely lift my arms and it feels like someone stole most of my senses from me.”

“You’re good then,” Tony replies. He climbs into the chair next to the bed and feeds Bond an ice cube, Alpha instincts be damned. He’s Tony Stark; he has an IQ higher than Einstein’s. He is not going to growl or punch or refuse an injured man help just because he’s fake married to Tony’s Omega. "The sedatives are to keep you here. From what I've read, you're not one to stay in bed and rest."

“You never answered my original question,” the agent points out, biting on an ice cube. "What did you ask from him?"

“I'll tell you if you tell me something,” Tony quips. “That, or you can wait until David gets here so you can ask him yourself.” It’s a bluff - there’s no way he’d deny David the ability to talk to Bond – but the agent doesn’t need to know that and Tony has bluffed unlikelier things to scarier people.

Still, Tony thinks it’s the drugs, not his poker face, that has Bond nodding. “As long as answering your question doesn’t mean I’m committing treason.” 

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up as he feeds Bond another ice chip. What kind of clearance would one have to have to know who David is? “He’s giving me a chance. You get a chance at dying a different way, a different day, and I get a chance to hopefully make David not hate me so much. Why does he hate Alphas so much anyways? Wait, no, that’s not my question. Specifically, what does he hate about Alphas and what makes him happy?” It’s not really what he wants to ask, but can’t ask Bond how David got the scaring on his ribs when there’s no way Tony should even know about those.

“’Please, that’s not the only thing you want a chance at,’” Bond snorts. “At least, that’s what David would say. Anyways, that’s a double barreled question.”

It sounds a lot like something Tony would say - has said - but something gives him the feeling that it would sound a lot less flirtatious coming from David. “Nobody ever accused me of playing fair," Tony replies absentmindedly. So David hates Alphas because he thinks they're horny bastards? It's a fair point, actually. Tony internally winces, thinking about all the headlines he has made over the years. In his defense, the stories are mostly exaggerated and it was always his partner that initiated the...encounters. Not that he did anything to discourage them. 

“The only reason I’m telling you anything is because he’d have my head if I killed you for hurting him,” Bond retorts and Tony nods in acknowledgement. “He never told me, actually. If anybody knows, it would be Alec, whose current whereabouts are unknown because he's running around the globe hiding from your friend.” Bond stares at the ceiling. “Stark, why do care so much about David? Why are you tripping over yourself when you know he’ll never stay with you?”

“Hey, you already asked your –“

“Just answer it.” Bond’s tone implies that it’s one of those “answer a question with a question” things. Tony hates those.

“He's my soul mate. Of course I care," Tony answers. After a few seconds of silence it becomes apparent that Bond wants more than that. Tony sighs. "Every single instinct I have screams that he’s mine. When I saw him at the wedding I thought, well...” Tony stares at his hands. There’s no way to say he fell in love at first sight without sounding like an idiot. Even he thinks that it’s idiotic and impossible. It’s just biology. It has to be. There, simple and clean. “It’s biology. He’s so much smaller than us, so much more vulnerable, so I have to protect him.”

“Boffins. You’re all the same,” Bond scoffs, mostly to himself, and Tony is about to take offense when the word registers as information instead of an insult. David is a scientist? Great, now Tony has even more reason to like the Omega. Maybe if Tony gives him a lab he’ll stay. It worked for Bruce. The floor below his bedroom is– “There’s more to the world than all your sciences,” Bond drawls, breaking Tony’s train of thought and bringing him back to the original topic.

“I don’t get it. What does any of this have to do with why he hates Alphas?” He asks.

“Nothing. Anyways, just don’t give him another reason to and you’ll be fine,” Bond suggests. Tony blinks, realizing he has just been played.

“Look, I know you want him to be happy. I want him to be happy too. So can you just-“

“What makes you think he isn’t already happy without you?”

Tony doesn’t think; he knows. He knows because he sometimes feels so miserable that he has to be making David feel miserable through the bond. He knows because he grew up alone, his parents too swept up in their loneliness to look at him, let alone look after him. People need their mates. The proof is in his childhood: Howard prescribed himself a slow death through alcoholism, chasing after his deceased mate, apparently having decided that life wasn't worth living without his Omega. Tony's mother did the same, only with drugs instead of drink. The only times she ever smiled were when she traced the letters on the curve of her delicate wrist, letters that didn’t spell his father’s name. The only words she ever said spoke of stories about soul mates that found each other and lived happily ever after. 

It’s in the way Clint and Natasha light up around each other, their sharp edges dulling the slightest bit, just enough so that they can embrace each other without spilling blood. It’s in the warm wrinkles that appear on Pepper’s face whenever she smiles now, happier with her soul mate than she had ever been with him, anyone else, or alone. And it’s in Bruce, who Tony sometimes catches staring at New York’s skyline, cradling his left hand, expression a mix of sorrow and rage. 

There’s a reason Tony created the Maria Stark Foundation to help soul mates find (and keep) each other. He has heaps of cards, photos, letters, and even videos saying things ranging from a simple "thank you" to stories of lives being turned around.

But he can’t say any of that, especially to Bond, so instead he says, “David hasn’t gone into heat since he married you. Whatever suppressants he’s taking are probably ripping his insides to shreds by now. Suppressants are made to be taken only for a few days - when an Omega's Alpha is away on a business trip or something - and at most few weeks, not months and years. Even if you're giving him some super secret government version that doesn't screw him up, there's still the problem of his own body. Not going into heat for such a long time will screw up his body chemistry. His hormone levels must be incredibly unbalanced by now. Chances are he has constant headaches and fatigue. He might be happy, but he is isn't _living_.”

Bond snarls. Tony is sure that if Bond weren’t incapacitated, Tony would be. 

“Calm down. I only know because I can feel when he goes into heat. I’m not spying on him or anything. Wait, you guys didn’t kill the cat out of paranoia, did you?”

“I see." Bond hums thoughtfully. "No, we didn’t kill her, although her eyes gave us a fright at first and we had to disassemble her then put her back together again just to be safe. David loves her; the letter he wrote to you was genuine. By the way, that’s the answer to your question. The key to his heart is shiny tech. Bonus points if it explodes.”

Tony thinks he can hear a faint, vaguely Clint sounding voice shout, “See? I was right!” Tony brushes it off as his imagination. “Wait, did you just say you took her apart? And then managed to put her back together? Correctly?” He’s not sure if he feels more indignant or curious. Not many people have the skill to do that. Sure, assembling something after you’ve disassembled it isn’t as hard as creating from scratch, but it’s definitely not easy and the cat was a delicate creation: a delicate, very difficult to take apart without breaking creation. “Who did it? David never mentioned the name in his letter.” The letter had been uninformative and generically apologetic. _Please say it was David. Please say it was David,_ Tony thinks, because how awesome would it be if his Omega was also an engineer? They could make things together. In Tony's lab. (Which is pretty much everything Tony has ever dreamed about.)

“More than correctly and that’s something you’ll have to ask David yourself. I don’t know who he asked.” Bond closes his eyes, signaling that’s all Tony’s getting from him. It's not the answer Tony had been hoping for, but it also didn't rule out the possibility of David being a genius engineer and that's encouragement enough. Tony heaves himself out of his chair and is out the door in a flash, beelining for his lab. 

Shiny explosives. He can do that. 

\-------

“Why are you going Q? You don’t have to,” Alec tries. “James wouldn't want you to put yourself at risk like this.”

“Because I gave my word. Because this has been a long time coming. Things can’t continue the way they are Alec. You know they can’t,” Q reasons, stuffing his bags and ignoring the way his fingers tremble. “I just compromised myself for Double-O.” Q slams his overstuffed suitcase shut and pulls at the zipper, which refuses to do its job and zip. He hits the top half in frustration. It doesn’t help.

“I compromised myself,” Q repeats as Alec gently eases the suitcase away and closes it for Q. “I let my emotions get in the way. Stark could have asked for anything.”

“You didn’t sign a contract. All you gave was your word. You didn’t compromise yourself,” Alec comforts. “You don’t have to do any of this at all.”

Q shakes his head. Alec doesn’t get it. “I would have signed a contract. I would have given him anything short of treason. Maybe even treason. And I’d do it for you as well as James.”

“This isn’t just about that though, Q. I might’ve been away on far too many missions, but I still know you.”

Q’s sits on the floor, leaning against his bed, and Nono crawls into his lap. His shoulders drop wearily as he exhales. “I can’t keep doing this Alec.”

“Doing what, Q? You’re Q now, you no longer have to hide from Tony Stark, everyone at MI6 respects you, and James and I are here if anyone does differently. You have people who love you and people you love. It’s everything you wanted and then some,” Alec retorts, frustration creeping into his voice. Q shouldn’t be doing this now, not when Alec is still high strung and coming down from his mission. Q desperately wants to embrace his friend, to breathe in Alec’s scent, mix it with his own, and ease the tension in his ex-lover’s body and mind. But he can’t; he hasn’t been able to for a long time. (When was the last time Alec touched someone other than to kill?)

Q shouldn’t have let it come this far. “It was. Things changed.” Nono meows and Q rubs her head absentmindedly. “You hardly come home anymore because you take every god forsaken mission you can, trying to avoid and forget about Steve even though you refuse to cut the bond. Steve only found you because of me." 

“That’s my own fault. Actually, it’s his, for being a jerk. Not yours,” Alec interrupts.

“Alec. Look at me.” There are dark patches under Q's eyes from lack of sleep; his eyes are bloodshot for the same reasons. He knows that he's lost weight as his clothes no longer fit snugly on him and his once steady hands refuse to stop trembling. “My own biology is killing me. When James is here it’s okay, but when he’s gone too long I become a liability. He’s been gone for only a week and I can’t even shut a suitcase, let alone think straight. I almost had a panic attack at MI6 earlier.”

“That’s because you were worried about James.”

“I’ve always been worried. I’ve never panicked before. I've become a danger to James, you, and everyone else who depends on me.”

“Hardly. Even if you are a danger, so what? We live in constant danger. The only difference is you make James happy, you idiot.”

“He feels guilty every time he comes home and I look like I’m falling to pieces because he wasn’t here to soothe the negative effects of the suppressants I’m taking!” Q cries. Nono scampers off his lap and darts underneath the bed. “He feels guilty that I even have to take them! I know about Vesper and why he thinks it’s his fault, but it isn’t. I’ve tried everything I can to absolve his guilt, but nothing works. Because of that he can't help me through my heats and the fact that he could fix me but isn't is a monster that eats away at him just as these stupid pills eat away at me and we are _crumbling_.

I can stop taking the pills if it’s him, but I can’t put him through that again. I can’t do that to him Alec. I can’t. I can’t make the choice.”

“James would-“

“That’s because James is a self-sacrificing idiot.”

“It takes one to know one,” Alec sighs. “So what? You’re just going to make up a third option? Walk up to Stark, fuck him, then walk away? You really think he’ll agree to that? You might hate Alphas, but you’re not cruel. You wouldn’t do that to him.”

“The thing is I think he would agree to it.” Q puts up a hand, knowing that Alec would interrupt otherwise. “That’s why I won’t do it. I’ve already been cruel enough.”

“Shit. You’re not _going_ , you’re _leaving_. That’s your choice? Leaving me and James for a stranger just like that?” Alec yells. The scent of rust clogs Q’s senses. “You don’t have to leave British soil if you want to fuck a stranger. Hell, I know James and I can’t get you through your heat, but what about any of the other Double-Os? They wouldn’t mind. Hell, MI6 is swarming with Alphas. Take your pick. If you really want, you could pick anyone off the streets. You don’t even have to actually fuck them. Just use the toy. Problem solved.”

Alec’s words make Q feel physically ill. The room spins for moment as memories assault him and he drops his head between his knees, dry heaving and gasping for air.

“Shhh, I didn’t mean that David. I’m sorry.” Alec whispers, at Q’s side in a second. Alec’s hand hovers over Q’s back, not quite touching. Because his incomplete bond with Steve won't let him. For one, selfish second Q is grateful that Alec can't touch him because it means Alec is safe from his taint.

Q can feel tears brimming up and he hates himself for it, for all his weaknesses that caused this entire mess. Because Alec is right; it’s all so easy as just picking a stranger and having sex with them and how hard pathetic is it that he couldn't even do that? 

Q shuts his eyes and gasps in air, willing the nausea and the wetness in his eyes to go away. The memories, he doesn't even try to banish. “I tried,” he manages to say at last, raising his head. 

“What?” Alec asks, not quite comprehending. Q wishes Alec had, so he wouldn’t have to say it out loud.

“I tried to fuck a stranger. While you were in Brisbane and James was in Bur Dubai.” A year ago.

Alec is silent, hand still hovering. There, but not there. 

“I picked out a whore, watched her for a few days. I thought I might be able to do it if it was a girl. She was small for an Alpha and barely legal: non-threatening. I propositioned her and she accepted. I stopped taking my suppressants and after a few days I picked her up, rented a hotel room, and tied her to a chair. I blindfolded her as well. I didn’t want her to see me.”

“You don’t have to tell me. You don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry David, I’m sorry, okay?”

Q ignores him. Alec has to know. “It was torture for her. She begged me to let her go, Alec, to untie at least one of her hands. She cried and screamed for me to let her…She called me a tease, a whore, a slut.” Q trails off, shuddering at the memory. In the end he’d called 0013, asking for her to clean up the mess he’d created. 0013 had sedated the girl and taken her away while Q threw up the contents of his stomach. Ever since, 0013 looks at him with pity in her eyes. Q can't stand it. If anyone should be felt sorry for it is the poor Alpha girl. She was the victim, not Q.

“I’m sorry Q,” Alec apologizes, settling on the ground next to him. He pauses for long time then finally says, “I didn’t really mean it. I just – I’m just worried about you. Why Stark? What if he turns out to be an asshole? It’s not easy to break a bond. I’ve tried. And what about MI6?” Alec doesn’t ask, _“What about us?”_ but Q hears it in his voice.

“Well, I'm not fucking anyone in MI6 for obvious reasons and he's the only Alpha outside of MI6 that I know. I don't exactly have a lot of options and I only have so long until M declares me unfit for duty. Anyways, we're soul mates so it should work?" Alec looks at him incredulously. Q shrugs. "He asked for a _chance_ , Alec. He’s says he’s working on something to prevent us from accidentally bonding and I actually believe him. I don’t think he wants an Omega who hates him, which means I can trust him. Well, more than I can trust a stranger. And he can't be an asshole; he made Nono. If you could understand her code, it’s…Trust me, out of the two of us I’m the asshole, not Stark. And I don't think he'll turn out to be a knothead. He fought to make an Omega the CEO of his company. And I’m not leaving MI6 if I can help it. After all, someone has to keep you and James from breaking all of Q branch's toys.”

“You could just stop being Q."

"James could just retire and become my babysitter," Q replies sarcastically. Then, more seriously, "I'm nothing if not Q."

Alec sighs, finally relenting. He knows how hard Q has worked to get to where he is. "Well, I’m coming with you to America at least.”

Q nods. He needed a bodyguard anyways and 006 is his favorite. 007 worries too much. “Alec?”

“Hm?”

“You can’t keep running forever,” Q whispers, leaning until his head is just a centimeter from resting on Alec's shoulder. The scars Q left on his neck so long ago are almost completely faded.

“I know love, I know.”


	22. Chapter 22

Nono, it turns out, does not enjoy ships. She spends the entire trip alternating between hiding in corners, curled around Starkphones that she swiped from fellow passengers, and sitting on the rails, staring at the ocean and contemplating mechanical kitty suicide. Alec argues that she’s just trying to look for fish. Q rolls his eyes and points out that there’s a tank full of fish in the casino and she hadn’t so much as given them a passing glance. He makes a mental note to check her code later.

Aside from kitty suicide watch - she might be waterproof and know how to swim, but getting her out of the ocean is another thing entirely - the cruise is relatively peaceful. Then James video calls. The rush of relief that comes from seeing James in one piece, alive, almost brings Q to his knees. He stares at James' pixels for a long moment, letting the information sink in and ease the tension in his body. James stares right back and Q knows that he's silently promising to never scare Q like that again. Q silently promises that everything will go back to the way it was. Silently, because the promise are far too sappy to say out loud and they'd both rather not say promises they can't keep.

Eventually, the silence becomes too much so Q talks about the weather, as if they're strangers, because bringing up the topic of Stark right now doesn't seem right. James mentions that he has lost Q's equipment _again_. Q shrugs, and says he's mostly angry about the equipment that got damaged. Because James is his - even though Q is an Omega so technically, it's the other way around in the eyes of the world - even if Q didn't build him with his own two hands and Q doesn't forgive people who damage his things. Inevitably, things somehow go to shit and they end up attacking each other. (Filed under things that are James+Q are 243 verbal confrontations, 242 make up make out sessions, 135 close shaves with a straight razor, 16 punches thrown by Q, 22 broken plates, 34 peaceful brunches in bed, 4 injuries, and 1 tiny scar.) Taking a bullet to the neck has done nothing to James' ability to sputter and rage at Q and Q screams obscenities right back. Alec stays out of it, carefully observing from the corner of the room where he’s huddled with Nono.

At some point, someone knocks on Q and Alec's cabin door and asks if everything is okay. Alec looks at Q, a devilish smirk on his face. Q nods, understanding. They simultaneously start panting and moaning loudly, Alec reciting lines that he surely got from bad porn. They wait until they can no longer hear the scurrying of retreating footsteps then burst out laughing.

"'That's right! Take my big, juicy knot!' Really Alec? That's the best you could come with?" Q asks through hiccups of laughter.

"At least I don't fake moan like a dying cat," Alec retorts. A second later he's left wincing and apologizing because Nono takes offense to his comment and digs her claws into his leg.

James chuckles weakly and raises an eyebrow, “So that's what the two of you get up to when I'm on missions. And here I thought it was only me who made your voice hoarse from screaming."

Q glares at the screen, but rubs his throat. James is right; they must have been yelling at each other quite some time. He doesn't even remember why they were fighting in the first place. He contemplates bringing the Stark issue up now.

Q, do you know anything about Black Widow?” James asks before Q can find the right words.

“Not much, why?”

“She has a vendetta against me and I don’t know why.”

“Hmm. I don’t think you’ve encountered her or any of her affiliates – the ones she isn’t trying to kill that is – before. I’ll look into it, but maybe she just doesn’t like you. I wouldn’t blame her. You’re obstinate, reckless, infuriating –“

“Q.” James cuts him off. “I love you too.” (Filed under things that are James+Q are two "I love you"s.)

Q falls silent. The carefully gathered words he’d pieced together to explain that he’s going to try to work things out with Stark crumble. His resolve cracks. He swallows his guilt - he has no reason to feel guilty, why does he feel guilty - and plasters a smile on his face. “I knew that already. I’m not an idiot like you; I can take a hint,” he manages to say with bravado and aloofness that he doesn’t feel.

“Sorry, not all of us are such clever boys.”

“I haven’t been a boy for a decade, James.”

“I’ve noticed,” James replies, a bit smugly.

Q pretends to facepalm so James can’t see the blush that’s crawling up his face. Then again, James knows Q well enough that he probably knows anyways. “I’m hanging up now,” Q snaps, a little more harshly than he means to.

James merely laughs. “Take care, Q. Make sure Alec doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“The same to you, 007.” Q ends the call and tosses the phone onto the bed, flopping face-down next to it a second later. The rush of adrenaline he'd gotten from verbally sparring with James is gone as fast as it came and leaves him drained. His body physically aches for the Alpha. Well, any Alpha really, but close enough.

“You didn’t tell him,” Alec accuses.

“Ungh,” Q grunts into the covers. How was he supposed to do after James - emotionally constipated, never talks about his feelings James Bond - had said he loved him? “I wish I’d been born a Beta,” Q whines, lifting his face off the comforter for a moment so Alec can actually understand him. He immediately face plants again once the words are out.

“Tell that to Captain America,” Alec drawls. Nono hisses at the mention of Steve Rodgers, tail going rigid. Q turns his head at the sound, just in time to witness the Starkphone she’d been cuddling with a second ago die a gruesome death as her claws extend and rip its innards out. Alec ignores the scene, ranting, “’Do I look like a Beta to you?’ he says. ‘My Omega is shy. I’m all for equality, but it’s simple fact that Omegas need Alphas to protect them, guide them.’ As if Omegas don’t have brains! As if I'm an Omega! Not that there's anything wrong with being one, unless you're you, or, apparently, Mr. ‘I’d even rather be an Omega than a Beta.’”

“You used to dislike being a Beta,” Q points out.

“But I wasn’t nearly as much of an asshole about it.”

“True. If you want, I can ruin his credit and make seventy years of backpay disappear. I also brought along some weapon prototypes I’ve been working on to show to Bond, but you can use them if you’d like.”

Alec merely sighs and pets Nono, who is sadly staring at the remains of the Starkphone she’d just shredded. She mewls pitifully as she pokes at its remains. It gives off a few last sparks before fizzing out pathetically. Nono turns to look up at Alec. “Nonononono,” she warbles.

That’s what you get for breaking it,” Alec admonishes, though not too sternly. When she continues to whine, he sighs again and heaves himself to his feet. “Fine, let’s go get you another one.”

When the door closes behind Alec, Q turns over and stares out the porthole and daydreams about things that could've been. His fingers idly trace the scars on his ribs. They don't hurt anymore, but the letters buried under them tingle uncomfortably.

Filed under things that _aren't_ James+Q is a happy ending for the two.

\-------

Steve takes one last stroll through the city that’s been his “home” for the past few years before hailing a taxi, all his possessions packed into the single duffle bag slung across his shoulder. He knows the roads like the back of his hand by now. He’s walked down all of them at one point or another, the bond pulling him every which way but never leading him to Alec. Every time he thought he was close the little golden string would jerk in the other direction then fade from his mind’s sight for months.

Alec hadn’t returned to his house after the wedding. Steve had fixed the door then waited on the doorstep all afternoon and all night, apology scripted out in his mind. (If he was honest with himself he’d realize it was more an excuse than anything.) Alec hadn’t come back the day after that. Tony returned to New York the next day and Steve had decided to stay.

The media had gone into a frenzy. Steve hadn’t known what to do, what to say. “Whatever you want to say,” Tony had advised over the phone. “Whatever you want your mate to hear. Just don’t say silent. It's not too late.”

So Steve had arranged a press conference, planning to announce that he is a Beta, consequences be damned. After all, it's nobody's business whether he's an Alpha, Beta, or and Omega. None of that matters. He's still Steve, Captain America, no matter what. The words had been a second from coming out of his mouth when reflex, years of lying, and fear had caused him to instead arrogantly announce that he’s an Alpha. And once the words, “Of course I’m an Alpha,” had been said he couldn’t take them back. That’d be admitting that Captain America is a coward and a liar. Which, admittedly, still might be better than announcing that Captain America is a Beta. Not that he admitted anything when it came down to it.

It's not that he's ashamed to be a Beta; it's really not. (Even though sometimes he thinks that maybe if he weren't a Beta Alec would like him more.) It's just...it would change things, if people knew.

Steve hadn't expected the questions about his Omega. He could have told the truth; he could have apologized to Alec. Instead, seeing the doubt in the reporters' eyes, he'd told another lie to sell the first one. He had dug himself a hole too deep, saying things that he didn't mean and still regrets to this day. Steve's hand tightens around the shoulder strap of his bag. He wishes he'd had the courage to say what he should have.

The media had mostly forgotten about him after a month, for which he's grateful. The only time they remember him is when New York is under attack and he isn't there. They accuse him of abandoning them, and for what? An Omega that they've never seen? For all they know, Steve doesn't even have an Omega.

He doesn't. He has a Beta for a soul mate and he himself is a Beta and every time they stick the microphone in front of him he hears Tony's voice in his head telling him, "It's not too late," and tries to tell the truth but falters. He never manages to yell that yes, he loves saving people more than anything, but he can't go back to America because knowing he has a soul mate who hates him makes him feel like he's one of those Janga tower things: like he's one stiff breeze from falling apart, hollow in places that he shouldn't be, and that it's only by some strange miracle or golden strand of hope that Alec hasn't yet broken that he's still standing and functioning. He never tells them that Alec not loving him makes him feels like he was never injected with the super soldier serum because his shield is too heavy across his back and he still isn't good enough to have a mate despite now being "the pinnacle of human perfection". Quotation marks because even though the serum may have made him stronger, he is more a coward, more pathetic, now than he ever was before the experiment. Any maybe that's why Alec ran from continent to continent just to avoid him.

Steve never manages to say of that. Instead he always lies again, says that he's going to return back to New York sooner or later - even though his Omega refuses to leave London - because he knows that America needs him more than he needs a love life.

Of all the lies, this one is the closest to the truth. Alec can't tolerate him, let alone like him enough to leave London _for_ him. If anything, Alec hates him so much that he leaves London to _avoid_ Steve. It's high time that Steve finally accepts this and gives up. He's going back to New York, returning home to the Avengers and forgetting all about Alec Trevelyan. He can do it. After all, he had once accepted that he wouldn't get to have a soul mate. He can do it again. The only difference this time is that it's his fault, not fate's, that he doesn't have a soul mate by his side. The haunting green eyes drawn on almost every page of his sketchbook and the muted gold string glowing in his mind are proof of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q shaving Bond with a straight razor. <3


	23. Chapter 23

New York is nothing like it is in the films (except for the traffic, they got that part right). For one, it’s much grimier without Hollywood’s glamour. For two, most of the films don’t include Stark Tower. It’s part monstrosity, part technological masterpiece. The sight of it sends Q’s pulse skyrocketing and brings doubts to his mind.

Does Q really want to do this? He doesn’t have much of a choice at this point. But is that just an excuse? What if he actually, really wants this? Fight it as he might, he’s just like any other Omega. The kidnapping incident taught him that.

What if Stark is angry about Q hanging up? What if he’s decided that having an Omega isn’t worth it? What if Tony didn’t figure out a way to stop the bond from forming prematurely? Q shakes his head, trying to will the doubts away. Tony would have called if that were the case. _Unless he didn’t want to get hung up on again_ , Q's mind supplies unhelpfully and he shushes it. Stark is nothing if not stubborn and if Q’s hiding for twenty plus years hadn’t deterred him then it’s unlikely that a simple hanged up call would. 

What if Stark doesn’t want him after all? After all, Stark has been in love with the idea of having an Omega for forever and there’s no way Q will live up to the expectations. Besides, Q has no idea how to go about attracting an Alpha; the near thought of it makes him want to gag a little, old memories rising to the surface.

 _Deep breaths_. Tony Stark isn’t an Alpha, he’s Q’s Alpha. _My Alpha_. The thought is so strange and foreign he’s not sure if it makes him feel better or worse. The letters on his ribs flit around like overly excited birds, rearranging themselves on his skin. “Tony Stark” becomes gibberish things like “Sank to Try” and “rant To Sky” before eventually settling into a “Stray knoT” around his heart. Q crosses his arms in front of him and presses a hand against his ribs, holding the letters in the place. He’s not nervous; it’s just biology. 

Anyways, he can always go back to London if it doesn’t go well. He’d have to retire from being Q before the end of the year, but after that he’d have at least three, maybe five, years before he ended up in permanent bedrest and killed himself out of frustration/humiliation. Who knows, maybe James would finally get over the gouging chasm Vesper left in him and would finally sleep with Q. Q internally snorts at the thought. Maybe while James was at it Q would get over all his hang ups and Steve Rogers would stop being a coward or Alec would sever the bond and the three of them could live happily ever after until they all died of old age.

Alec has the cab drop them off a few blocks away from the tower. It’s probably ridiculously precocious, but better safe than sorry. The American news seems to love putting the Avengers – especially Tony – in the spotlight.

Stark Tower is even more intimidating up close, but before Q can back out the doors open and Nono leaps off Alec’s shoulder and darts into the lobby. Q trades a quick look of exasperation with Alec – bringing her to a building filled with Starktech for her to vandalize was such a bad idea – before following her in. To Q’s surprise, when he finally spots her she isn’t up to any mischief. Instead she’s sitting on her haunches in front of an elevator, tail wagging spastically, the broken StarkPhone from the ship in her mouth. 

“What are you, a dog?” Q mutters when they finally catch up to her. She barks, the cheeky thing. “You can’t run around here. You might get lost.” As he bends down to scoop her up, the elevator doors open and she springs forward, attacking the scuffed, classy black shoes that step out of the elevator. Q scrambles to get up and catch her, but it's too late. “Bugger! Sorry about that! She-“ Q’s apology dies in his throat as he looks up. The stranger is wearing black dress pants, impeccably tailored and probably expensive beyond belief. They look like something James would wear. Nono leaves tiny claw marks in them as she scales the man. A calloused hand gently grabs her by the scruff before she can do the same to the black wife beater the man is wearing. Not that it’d be much of a loss: the shirt is covered in oil stains, though Q can only tell because he’s pretty intimately familiar with the way black stains from his own experience with machinery (weapons). It’s a strange combination, but it somehow works on this man. It certainly doesn’t hurt that the arms left exposed by the wife beater are wonderfully muscled.

Alec jumps in front of Q before he can see the man’s face and Q belatedly realizes that he’d been ogling Tony Stark. He startles backwards out of instinct – face as brilliant a red as an Iron Man suit – and is a second from running when he realizes that the bond hadn’t reacted whatsoever to Tony’s presence; in fact, he can’t even scent the Alpha. It seems Stark did manage to concoct something. That’s one doubt down; only far too many to go. Q exhales a shaky breath. 

“Alec, it’s fine. I…don’t feel anything,” Q assures, composing himself as best he can when his heart is going a mile a minute. He wraps an arm around himself and presses his palm against his ribs.

“Whew, glad to know it worked,” Stark says. Before Q or Alec can sputter about Stark risking showing up without being sure that whatever he did would work, Stark is cooing at Nono. _Cooing._ With a high pitched baby-voice and everything. “Aw, look at you. You’re so cute. Have you been good for your owner?” Stark tickles her chin and grins when she purrs happily. “What do you have there?” Stark asks when the glint of metal in her mouth catches his eye. “Is that a – what the hell?!? Why did the cat just drop a cannibalized StarkPhone into my hand?”

“It means she likes you?” Q offers meekly. He internally curses. The last thing he needs is Stark thinking he's a pushover, or shaken by his presence. He isn't. He just hasn't seen James in two weeks and it's affecting him. Once he sees James he'll be back to normal. 

“I – You and I will have words about how to raise a bot.” Stark frowns. Is he upset? Joking? Q can’t tell. Stark’s lack of scent throws his ability to read the man out the window. However, Tony indulgently accepts the phone and playfully taps Nono on the nose, praising her hunting skills and admonishing her ability to pick out proper prey so Q figures Stark isn’t actually angry. 

Perhaps he should play along? Q wishes there was a protocol for this. It’s no wonder Alphas always seem so stupid if this is what not being able to scent people is like. “You’re one to talk,” Q eventually quips. “Her baseline behavior was created using the most popular cat videos on YouTube.”

“Hey, that is perfectly – Wait, how did you know?” Stark seems to have issues with finishing a thought before another pop up, Q notes. 

“I watch cat videos,” Q deadpans. “And it was pretty obvious.” Tony’s expression flickers but Q can’t decipher what it means before it disappears. He changes the topic. “How is James? Not causing you too much trouble I hope? Sorry we didn’t call ahead; I don’t actually have your number.” He could have hacked his way into Stark Industries to find out, but exactly how would he have explained that one? “Did our arrival interrupt you?” He tilts his head, indicating Tony’s wardrobe choice. 

“He’s doing good; he’s healthy enough to use the shooting range for a bit every day. Well, not really, but none of us can be bothered to try and stop him. We couldn’t keep him sedated forever after all.” Tony ushers them into the elevator. “I can bring you to him now, unless you’re tired or want the tour first. And uh, no you didn’t interrupt me. I was just…don’t worry about it.”

“I’d like to see him now please,” Q requests, barely refraining from sighing in relief. He would wonder what Tony was “just” doing, but his nerves are too busy trilling and bursting at the thought of seeing James.

Tony nods and, to both Q and Alec’s surprise, the elevator starts moving without the touching of any buttons. Alec stiffens and his hand instinctively goes for his gun.

“There is no need for alarm Mr. Trevelyan,” a familiar sounding, British voice assures.

Q quickly glances around the elevator – Tony is grinning madly. “Jarvis?” Q wonders aloud, not sure if he’s addressing Tony or Jarvis. 

“Correct sir. Welcome to Stark Tower.” Why would Tony’s assistant during the mission earlier be doing something as mundane as controlling an elevator and why is the elevator even remote controlled?? Even stranger still would be the fact Tony has Jarvis monitoring him to do something so frivolous. Unless…

“Jarvis, please don’t be insulted by this question, but are you human?” Q addresses the ceiling of the elevator as he doesn’t know where the cameras are, but cameras are generally in high places. Alec looks at him as if he’s gone crazy. He feels crazy for even considering it, but Nono is practically an AI and there had been rumors…

The elevator dings and the doors open. “I am not. I am Just A Rather Very Intelligent System. There’s no need to search for a camera. Merely call my name and I will assist you however I can.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Stark leads them down a short hallway. “First door on the right. I’ll leave you to it. Call out for Jarvis if you need anything. I’ll switch the cameras off,” Stark informs.

Q offers a quick thanks then enters James’ room, not bothering to knock. 

"Q?" James props himself up on the bed, scooting over in a clear invitation. He looks infinitely better than he did when Q last saw him.

Q lets go of a breath he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding. "James." He rushes over to the bed and (carefully) throws himself on top of the Alpha, burying his face in the crook of James' neck on the side that wasn't injured. Q almost topples over, having forgotten to properly balance himself, but James steadies him with one hand on his hip, another on his arm. Q doesn't move, inhaling James’ familiar vanilla scent, until they're both stiff from the awkward position. Only when his leg starts to fall asleep does he allow James to gently reposition them so they're comfortably lying down, Q's head atop the Alpha’s heart. Something in him unravels – the little threads that held him tense go slack and he melts against his husband. He instantly feels better: like his body is his own again even though he, in this moment, belongs to James. Quivering muscles still and senses become more as James traces his spine, circling each fragile bone, and smooths out his trembling. James knows every little scar and scrape on Q's body. He could map them out like an astronomer the Milky Way. When they're like this, Q feels like James' galaxy.

James presses a kiss to his forehead, lips whispering something against his forehead that Q can’t hear. Usually he’d be curious, but right now it doesn’t matter. He can worry about it later. He can feel James’ heart beat thrumming steadily, and can feel his own rabbit-like heart slow its frantic pitter patter to match, the Stray KnoT loosening.

Q closes his eyes and enjoys the sensation of James’ gun-calloused hands displacing staticky fuzz as they make their way from his back to his neck then into his hair. James chuckles when Q presses against him, trying to eliminate the space between them, and the vibrations travel from James into Q, where they bounce around and make him feel uncomfortably warm inside. He shivers involuntarily as his body tries to dispel the feeling.

James curls a wisp of Q’s hair around his finger and for the first time since they’ve seen each other in two weeks, speaks. “I still can’t believe you let me see you like this.” His voice sounds almost reverent. “I could ask you anything of you right now and you wouldn’t even think twice, would you?”

“Not anything," Q mumbles, gently butting James’ hands. They’d stilled in their ministrations and that was unacceptable. He sighs as James tucks an errant curl behind his ear – it immediately springs back to its previous position. “I love you,” he feels James’ sharp intake of breath at this, smells the warmth his words create, “but I’m still Q. I’m only willing to commit treason for you when your schemes aren’t half-brained and guaranteed to get one of us killed.”

"I'm sorry," James apologizes.

Q doesn't ask what for. Instead he scoots up the bed and presses his lips against James'.

After that, neither of them speak.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ThePlotNinja and everyone who has kudo'd, subscribed, and commented! Seriously, I'm stupidly excited/happy/surprised/everything in between that the fic reached 2^8 kudos! :).
> 
> So here's a chapter a little sooner (and longer) than usual!

Q wakes up feeling better than he has in a long time. Three weeks to be more specific. It’s pathetic really, how much he needed this. Then again, all humans, no matter if they’re Alpha, Beta, or Omega, need contact once in a while. Q worries for Alec. Wait, Alec. Q glances around the room. He’d forgotten all about the Beta in his excitement yesterday.

“Jarvis, what time is it and where is Alec?” Q asks quietly, so as to not wake James. For a moment Jarvis doesn’t reply and Q wonders if the AI couldn’t hear him.

“It is currently 3 p.m. and Mr. Trevelyan is currently in the gym,” Jarvis replies quietly. Q feels the blood drain out of his face. He’d been asleep for almost an entire day. “Would you like me to alert him that you’re awake?” Jarvis continues, either oblivious to Q’s plight or just politely ignoring it.

“No need.” He can only imagine how terribly a conversation with Stark would go with Alec hovering over his shoulder. He’ll apologize to Alec later. “But if he asks, tell him James wants to see him please?”

“Of course. If I may, Tony is currently in his workshop in the basement, but he isn’t working on anything critical right now and he hasn’t eaten in 37 hours.”

As Q extracts carefully extracts himself from James – it’s hard to not wake the spy, especially because he, against all odds and what his reputation would lead one to believe, clings like a limpet – he wonders exactly how smart the AI is. Or maybe scheming is a better description for Jarvis.

“Does James need any medication administered? Do his dressings need to be changed?” Q asks once he’s free. It’s strange, not being able to see who he’s talking to. Usually, he’s the voyeur, not the other way around. Not that Jarvis should be watching, since Tony said he’d turned the cameras off. Of course, Q has no way of knowing if the Alpha kept his word, but if Q can’t trust the man with a surveillance camera, how is he supposed to trust the man to…

Q wasn’t quite ready for that mental image. Sure, he’d thought about it, but he hadn’t actually _thought_ about it. Now that he thinks about it though, Tony isn’t physically unattractive. In fact – 

“Rest assured, Mr. Bond is being taken care of,” Jarvis informs, breaking Q out of his thoughts.

Q spends the long elevator ride down to the basement in self loathing. How far he has come from the independent person he used to be back before he was Q, or R even. He’s become someone who trembles and quivers just from being alone for far too long, someone who apparently ogles Alphas and even fantasizes about being fucked by them. Q digs his fingertips into his palms as he stares at his reflection in the shiny metal of the elevator wall. So many years have passed, yet he is still the same, silly little Omega that he used to be, desperate for the attention of Alphas. The only thing that’s changed is he’s no longer as naïve or ignorant as he used to be and he wears the proof of his knowledge in the weary slump of his shoulders, the bags under his eyes, in the bottle of suppressants and miniature toolkit he always carries in his pocket.

He swallows a pill, imagines it rattling down his throat, and laughs, bitter. They’d called him bitter, back then, when he’d avoided them after they’d…the incident. To this day he marvels at the way they’d sound surprised. How is he supposed to be anything but bitter when they’d burnt him, ground his essence to fine dust, and drank away his sweetness?

Q almost asks Jarvis to halt the elevator. He really, really doesn’t want to do this. 

The elevator dings and the doors slide open, bringing him into a technophile’s wet dream. Well, not quite. There’s a glass wall separating him from Stark’s workshop, most likely a microalloy made of palladium, judging by how they’re still standing despite the numerous scorch marks on the floor. Unless Stark just has them replaced every time he blows his workshop up, but that doesn’t seem too likely. Or is it? Q is reminded, once again, that he doesn’t really know anything about Stark.

There’s music blasting – some American rock that Q doesn’t particularly hold any feelings for – and Stark doesn’t seem to notice his arrival so Q takes his time appraising the workshop and its single inhabitant. Well, maybe not single.

There are a few robots whizzing around, though they don’t seem to be particularly helpful or even have a purpose. If anything, they look like they’re annoying Stark. Nono seems to like them though; she chases them around the workshop, dodging their clunky arms when they try to playfully swat her. Q knows that the bots are technically pretty amazing, but compared to the Iron Man suit in the background (and Nono) they look like junkyard scrap. One of them attempts to hand Stark a strange concoction that looks akin to poison only to wheel away defeated when Stark shakes his head and makes a shooing motion with one hand. Huh.

Stark has a split lip that Q is sure wasn't there yesterday.

Stark is nothing like he is in the news. In the videos Q has seen, Stark is always composed, even when he’s making an arse of himself (which is almost always). He's always seemed larger than life, making grandiose gestures left and right. But here his movements are small, subtle and efficient as he weaves through the lab, picking up random bits of tech as he goes. Stark seems...not small, but, scattered or subdued maybe. Like his mind is a million places at once.

Soft blue numbers and blueprints float through the air - holograms? Stark's eyes flit from one to the next; he has the attention span of a drunken squirrel. Occasionally he’ll grab one, maybe zoom in on some components and blow it up into 3D, or maybe crumple it up and toss it behind him, where it disappears - into an invisible digital wastebasket? Or perhaps Jarvis deletes them? Either way, Q itches to gets his hands on them. If he can figure out how they work he can replicate it for Q branch. It'd make engineering, weapons testing, and well, everything, a lot more efficient. And if it's not in the budget he could bat his eyelashes at brass until they make it in the budget. The humiliation would be well worth it.

A hologram of Nono appears in front of Stark and Nono hops off the bot she’d been hitching a ride on and stalks up to her image. She stares at it for a minute before swiping a paw at it. When her paw goes through the hologram and hits the table she startles backwards, falling off the table, landing at Stark’s feet. She scrambles to hide behind Stark, then once she decides nothing earth-shattering is going to happen she tilts her head up at Stark as if to ask, “What kind of sorcery is this?” and Q can’t help but laugh.

Then Stark picks her up, puts her on the workbench, and does something to her that makes her go limp and Q’s laughter dies.

“Stark!” Q yells, banging on the locked glass door. _Definitely palladium based_ , the rational part of his brain that isn't panicking informs him. Stark doesn’t turn, probably doesn’t hear him over the music. “Jarvis? Can you open the door?” Q asks, already reaching for his back pocket in case the answer is no.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have the security clearance necessary; however, I can alert Stark of your presence."

The keypad next to the door is gutted by the time Jarvis finishes his sentence. Q is contemplating whether he should go with the blue wire or the red wire when the music abruptly turns off. Q looks up. Stark is staring at him, face unreadable.

Whoops. He straightens and attempts to appear like he isn't trying to break Stark's security system. He starts to quickly reassemble the keypad, but it isn’t exactly a 10 second process (though taking it apart is), especially when he's trying to be discreet about it. The door swings open when Q is popping the cover back on.

“You know, most people just knock.” Stark leans against the entryway, one eyebrow cocked and far too close for comfort. Q shuffles backwards, as far away as he can without while keeping the keypad behind his back, out of Stark's line of sight. Not that standing with his arms behind his back is entirely inconspicuous.

“I did,” he says with composure he doesn’t feel. “You didn’t hear it. Probably too busy deactivating Nono.” The cover to the keypad clicks into place and Q carefully screws it back in. He slips his multi-tool back into his pocket.

“Jesus Q, I’m not a bot murderer. I didn’t make her just to break her. I only do that with my suits, and I'm not even the one breaking them. Seriously, how many times are aliens going to invade New York?" Stark sighs in exasperation. "Also, that’s a terrible name for a cat, why would you ever name her that? Actually, I don’t want to know the answer to that. I was just going to give her a look over to make sure everything is working right.”

“But if you messed up-“ Q blushes sheepishly when he realizes how irrational his cover-up excuse sounds. Still, it's better than admitting that yes, he had panicked and though Tony was going to kill Nono. “Sorry. You’ve been nothing but kind, saving James and inviting Alec and I to the tower and I’ve been, well, an arse. Thank you, by the way. For everything.”

Stark shrugs stiffly, the way Alec does when he’s pretending to be indifferent but really isn’t. Q wonders if he’s offended the Alpha and instinctively sniffs the air for the scent of rust before remembering that he can’t scent Stark.

“I can be a bit paranoid,” Q admits, in hopes that it’ll soothe the genius' ego.

That seems to do it because Stark gives a little half smile and says, “I’m that way about my tech too. By the way, it wasn’t the blue or the red wire.”

Q doesn’t rise to the bait. “I wasn’t the one who named her.”

"So..." Stark starts. They stand there, staring awkwardly at each other for a moment. 

"Your AI sent me down here because you haven't eaten in over a day. Though, apparently you've managed to get into a fight within that time span," Q interjects, not quite ready for the implications of whatever Stark was about to say.

"Great, Jarvis is getting you to do his dirty work already. Food first, then we can spill our guts out to each other. More colorful that way. Uh, what do you want to eat? I know this great shawarma place-"

"I don't think going out would be a good idea-"

"That delivers," the Alpha finishes smoothly.

"Sure. I've never tried it before, but I might as well give it a chance."

Stark smiles, a full smile this time, and Q realizes that Stark misinterpreted what he'd said. But it's too late to take the words back now. Besides, it's not like he has much of a choice and... _it makes him happy._

"Can I play with the holograms while you order?" Q asks innocently.

"Jarvis already sent in an order, but sure. We can eat here if you want, though this place has the worst view of all the rooms in the tower. Feel free to poke around a bit. Jarvis will warn you if you're about to blow us up," Stark replies, walking back into the lab. "Don't mind me. I have to finish up this magnetohydrodynamic drive, but I should be done in a few minutes."

The first thing Q does is turn Nono back on. It’s disconcerting to see her lying still, not even breathing. She doesn’t need to breathe, but it’s the principle of it really. The second thing he does is poke at the blueprint for the MHD propulsor Stark is working on. Q had messed with them, back in college, but always considered them far too impractical. The hologram is beautiful and wonderfully intuitive to use. He spins it around with a twist of his wrist and when he flicks his fingers apart the components fly apart, lining themselves up for his perusal.

Wait, is that an arc reactor? Q stares at the cylinder in surprise, turning it around in his hands. Arc reactors are theoretical only. Nobody has actually managed to make one work yet. Although, with an arc reactor, an MHD propulsor system would actually be feasible and could be shrunken down from the size of say, a cow, to say, something portable. Q (somewhat clumsily) throws all the components back together by sweeping his hands together, suddenly realizing that the blueprint for the MHD propulsor hadn't been scaled down. It was actual size. He turns it around in his hands, wondering what it could possibly be used for when he remembers a different blueprint he'd seen earlier.

He wanders around the lab, searching for hologram of a miniature rocket pod that he'd seen earlier. Sure enough, the MHD propulsor slots right in. It's genius, pure and simple. Rocket pods are usually bulky and heavy, but with the MHD propulsor, there'd be no need for gunpowder and-

"That's the plan," Stark quips. "Now what I'm wondering is how you managed to figure that out." 

Q nearly startles out of skin. He'd forgotten all about Stark in his excitement. "It's like a puzzle," Q lies, tilting his head innocently, the way James had taught him to.

\-------

_"It makes you appear confused and helpless, childish and stupid," James explained._

_Q tilted his head to the side in genuine confusion, not because James had told him to. "Why would I ever want to appear- ah!" He lost whatever angry thought he was going to voice when James nipped him on the stretch of neck he'd just exposed. Q pushed James away, or attempted to at least. The Alpha was bloody heavy. He sighed. "James, it's hard enough to get you lot to take me seriously as it is." The Alpha nipped him again. "Stop proving my point!" Q shoved James again, giggling despite himself._

_"Exactly. You're an Omega, you can use that to your advantage instead of fighting it all the time." James wolfish grin disappeared, seriousness replacing it. "I don't know exactly what you did back when you were kidnapped, but hopefully you'll never have to do it again. You can manipulate Alphas without sex. We're an easy lot." James cupped Q's face and readjusted him by a few degrees. "There. Vapid as Alec when he's in front of the telly. Nobody would ever suspect you of anything."_

_Q straightened his neck and glared._

_"You know that when you do that it looks like you're pouting, right? All the Double-Os think it's bloody adorable." Q narrowed his eyes and James chuckled. "No, that doesn't make you an ounce more intimidating."_

_"I hate you," Q spat, but leaned into his husband anyways._

_"I hate you too," James replied amicably, pressing a kiss to Q's curls. "Now let's see your actual pout." ___

\-------

Q hunches his shoulders and nervously wrings his fingers. "Sorry, was I not supposed to? Jarvis didn't warn me and I was curious." He widens his eyes a fraction, not so much that Stark would notice on the conscious level, but enough that he might subconsciously be more inclined to think Q is innocent. And vapid. 

Stark chuckles wearily. "Ya, no. You're not playing the airhead Omega card on me. I've slept with enough airheads to tell a real one from a fake one and despite what popular 'science' says, Omegas are just as smart as Alphas, if not smarter. I would know; I made one CEO of my company because she's smarter than me. And I'm supposed to be the genius of the century." Stark's shoulders slump and he runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, streaking it with grease and metal dust. "Did MI6 set this whole thing up so you could steal my tech? Because whenever things are too good to seem true, they are."

"No, I-" Q starts, but he doesn't know what to say.

"Sir? The shawarma is here," Jarvis announces.

"Great! Just in time for us to spill our guts," Stark quips with fake cheer, throwing his arms up in mock celebration.


	25. Chapter 25

“I went to uni,” Q starts. Neither of them are eating. Food gets shuffled around their plates, but none of it makes it to their mouths. Coffee, however, does. Stark drinks it black, while Q’s cup is, ‘milk and creamer with dash of coffee,’ as Alec calls it. Tony had looked appalled when Q had mixed it. It’s the Alpha’s fault for not having tea on hand, really. 

“That’s not too unusual. I mean, sure the Omega to Alpha ratio is pretty low, but Pepper went to college.”

“I doubt that’s why she was hired, though.”

The Alpha frowns. “Admittedly, no. But before we get off track, this is about you. Where’d you go? What’d you study? I know England isn’t as progressive as America, so your options were pretty-”

“I studied computer engineering and mechanical engineering. With a few modules in physics. At Oxford,” Q interjects, just to be contrary.

“- Limited. How’d you pull that off? Even here, Omegas can only study shit like home economics.”

“I slept with the headmaster,” Q deadpans, absently tracing the rim of his cup with a finger, enjoying the fact that his hands no longer shake. Stark’s eyebrows shoot up and despite his curiosity and disdain for the phrase ‘ignorance is bliss’ Q doesn’t want to hear what the Alpha is about to say so he says, “At least that’s what the rumors say,” before Stark can say anything.

Stark opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“Anyways, I did a project on MHD propulsors in my freshman year. It was mostly hypotheticals, some about its potential uses as a weapon. My professor told my group it was too fanciful and _whimsical_ , that it was obviously the work of an Omega, and that while it’s nice to occasionally indulge Omegas, they should really learn to reign them in. The project got a B+.” Q laughs a little bitterly and tries to not think about the backlash that stupid project had had. 

“How much of that was the truth?” Tony asks. “Because I’m thinking it was about fifty-fifty.”

“You could always call Oxford and ask. Or, knowing you, hack into their systems.”

“Ya? Who would I be looking for? I doubt your name is really David.”

Q merely smiles and takes a sip of his coffee. Tony’s eyes dart to Q’s hands at the action. 

“Is there something fascinating about my hands?” He inquires when Tony stares for more than ten seconds.

“You hold your cup with two hands.”

“Yes? Acute observation. I don’t see why that warrants-“ Oh. Usually only children, who haven’t really learned the motor skills necessary, use both hands to pick up a cup. Q refuses to duck his head in embarrassment and his cheeks decidedly do not turn red. He wonders when he’d gotten into the habit. He never even noticed. Nobody had ever mentioned it, and he has no doubt that the Double-Os had noticed when he hadn’t. 

“Body holding you hostage, huh?”

“One of the many downsides of being one chromosome short of an Alpha,” Q replies crisply.

“If it makes you feel better, I felt every time you went into heat.”

Q almost chokes on his coffee, yet he still can’t stop the smile that makes its way onto his face unbidden. “I hope the bond was as inconvenient for you as it was me.”

“Board member meeting,” Stark says, grinning in challenge.

Q chuckles. “That’s nothing.”

“Try me,” he retorts, waving a spoon at Q. A stray piece of shawarma flies off and lands on the middle of the workbench. He shouldn't find it charming, but it's further proof that Tony is not the immaculate, charming playboy that the media makes him out to be.

“Standing in front of my boss’ desk being yelled at.”

“Is he hot?” Stark asks and Q shudders at the mental image. 

“No. And before you even think of saying it, no.”

“Acknowledged. So, to top yours, once when I was sparring with Cap-”

“Please, that was probably all you. Not that most people would blame you. Don’t put that one on me.”

“-and the Hulk.”

“Still all you,” Q insists petulantly.

Stark chokes a little on his sip of coffee. “Uh, no. Wait, you think Steve is attractive?”

“I said _most_ people. I am not most people. Anyways, at least you could have blamed the adrenaline.”

“So you’re saying that the reason I got a hard on while in the Iron Man suit fighting a weird, giant tentacle creature attacking New York was adrenaline,” Stark deadpans.

“Interesting proclivities. Are you sure you’re not just pretending these were the bond’s fault to make yourself feel better?” Q teases.

“Have you ever sat through a board meeting?”

“I even managed to restrain myself, unlike a certain someone.”

Stark huffs. “You’re just trying to distract me from the fact that you still haven’t topped me.”

“Interesting proclivities indeed and aside, I only went through a few heats while you, on the other hand…Well, you’re not as bad as the media makes you out to be, but still, a certain someone decided to have a four hour sex marathon while I was at the dentist’s.”

Tony winces in sympathy then scrunches his face in thought. “Actually, that happened to me once a long time ago. Turned out pretty well.”

“I bet your dentist wasn’t a pervy Alpha old enough to be your dad.”

Tony blanches. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t nearly as bad as the time-“ Q cuts off when he realizes he was about to overshare. “Well, lots of times.”

Stark’s smile disappears and Q stares at his shawarma like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could’ve sent a letter or an e-mail or something.”

“Because you get probably get weird letters all the time. ‘Hi, I’m your Omega and I know you probably thought I was dead dead or something, but I’m really not and could you please stop having sex all the time? It’s really inconvenient for me. Thanks. Bye. P.S. Don’t try to find me.’”

“Ya, I probably wouldn’t have taken that too seriously,” Stark admits. 

“Don’t blame you. At least not for that, anyways. Besides, compared to the fact you tend to go into cardiac arrest every once in a while it’s not too big a deal.” Q shrugs. “Anyways, Alphas tend to hit on Omegas whether they’re seemingly willing or not.” Q glances up and Stark is staring at his shawarma. “That wasn’t the right thing to say, was it?”

“No, it’s fine. I think I’ve decided,” the Alpha declares, looking Q in the eye. “Give me a year – London is fine if your confidential job keeps you there – to show you that I’m not, that a lot of Alphas aren’t, as terrible of a person as you think I am. All I ask is that you try to see past the fact that I’m an Alpha and maybe let me take you out on a date at least once a week and don’t avoid me too actively.”

It’s fair. Fifty-two dates for James' life. Fair is an understatement. “What if I’m too busy one week? My job keeps me on an erratic schedule sometimes. I’d probably cancel a lot." Q warns, with a sudden sinking feeling. He’s used to living as he pleases, on his own schedule without any social responsibilities. With Alec and James there were never plans. Everything had been spontaneous and natural. There's no way this will end well. "I'm not a very good Omega," he admits, remembering that Alec once joked that he should come with a disclaimer.

(Q had never learned how to bend. It was the breaking that he was familiar with.)

Stark shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “I get to make my own hours. We could just reschedule for next week or something. Or just cancel it entirely if you really aren’t up for it. I don’t care if you’re good at being an Omega. What does that mean anyways? Nevermind, don’t answer that. I hate hearing about our supposed roles. Forget the whole Alpha-Omega thing. Just be you.”

Q had been expecting, well, anything but that. He nods. “I can do that. Do you need a contract or something? I don’t need one, but I understand if you want one.” 

“Nah. Though it’d be nice if you could get your friends to stop trying to maim me, I’d really appreciate it,” Stark says nonchalantly and confirms that his split lip is indeed Alec's fault. “Especially now that your husband is no longer out of commission.”

“Sorry about that. They’re a bit…”

“Overprotective? Violent? Hot headed?” Stark guesses.

“Right on all three accounts. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re a genius.”

Tony smiles hesitantly and it gives Q a little hope that this won’t all go to hell.


	26. Chapter 26

They end up in the suite Stark set up for Q, Stark explaining the biochemical engineering process behind the creation of the concoction that Stark is using to repress his scent and the bond. Q doesn’t even need to pretend to not understand. He only understands about half of it. Biochemistry is not his field of expertise. Not unless it involves poisons that is.

Then again, the concoction created by Banner and Stark isn’t too far off from being a poison, from what little Q understands of it. He’s pretty sure it could be made into a weapon against people who have actual bonds. Between a strong soul bond, if one mate dies the other could die as well. It isn’t certain if it’s because of the loss of the bond or something else, but either way Q stores the information Stark tells him in the back of his mind in case it could be useful for an interrogation or something of the sort; something of the sort meaning helping Alec with his own problem. He’ll parse it out once he’s alone.

He toys with the tech the Alpha had put in the room as a surprise gift while he listens. He slowly unwraps them, careful of the alarming number of staples, and notes that at least three different types of duct tape were involved in the process. He wonders why Tony hadn’t just stuck them in bags; the man is apparently terrible at wrapping things. After he inspects them to make sure none of them are too dangerous he sets them on the bed beside him so Nono poke around the pile. She jumps into it with glee, nestling into it for a bit before picking up what Q suspects is a shiny, child’s version of a flash grenade. They’re all novelty things, items that Q is sure are one of a kind and useless when it comes to practicality. 

“Thank you.” Nobody has ever invented for him before, not before Tony. First Nono, now all this. He wonders if this is what Bond felt like when Q gave him an exploding pen for their fake anniversary gift. Nothing in the sizeable pile is anything that Q couldn’t have made himself if he’d thought to, but…

But what?

Q toys with something that looks suspiciously like a magic 8 ball, mulling. He tosses it onto the bed. But nothing.

“You’re welcome,” Tony replies, practically vibrating where he’s sitting on the couch. “Erm, what is Nono doing? I did not program her to – Are you sure you don’t want me to look at her?” Tony inquires, pointing at the bed. Nono has cracked the flash grenade thing open with her claws and is nose deep in the middle of it, crooning happily. It sparkles and lets out a pulsating glow for about a minute before going dark. 

“What was that – what did she…did she just kill it?” The Alpha furrows his eyebrows. “You never answered how her battery problem was fixed.” Tony leaps off the couch and scoops Nono and her now dead toy. He inspects it and turns to Q with wide eyes. “She drained it. That’s how –“ He cuts off mid-sentence, head whipping back to Nono before Q can nod in affirmation. “You. You’re the reason Pepper has been bugging me about defective StarkPhones in the London area.” The Alpha’s eyes narrow and Q is about to jump forward and save Nono when he chuckles. “Ha! I told her there was no way something I’d make would be defective.” Tony turns back to Q, who discretely tries to sit back down so it doesn’t look like he was about to throw himself at the Alpha to save Nono. The engineer’s grin becomes a frown and Q thinks he failed but then Stark says, “Please tell me that she’s usually more eloquent about this.”

“Huh?”

“It’d be very inefficient if she had to break the StarkPhones to drain them,” Tony elaborates airily.

“Uh, no. With the phones she just sticks her tongue into the charging port. Well, usually.”

“Everything here has the exact same charging port.”

“I did say usually. She is a cat, you know,” Q justifies.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Cats like to toy with their prey?” Everyone knows that.

“Huh. I didn’t know that. Jarvis, why didn’t I know that?” Jarvis doesn’t respond to Tony’s question and if Q didn’t know better he’d say the silence was disapproving.

“Possibly because you used YouTube videos for her baseline personality. Anyways, what was it supposed to do?” He’s a bit remorseful that he never got to try it out. 

“It’s not broken, she didn’t mess with anything. Here just let me plug it in for a bit. You don’t happen to have a – actually, of course you do. Toss me your miniature blowtorch or whatever you use.” Stark plugs it into a socket and holds out a hand.

Q sighs. He supposes there isn’t any reason in trying to hide it anymore, but that doesn’t mean he is just going to throw his tech around like some Double-O. He shoves off the bed, easily finds the laser pen in his tool kit, and places it in Stark’s hand. The Alpha’s hand is slightly larger than his own, warm, and covered in callouses and small scars. Their hands barely brush for a second, but Stark whirls on him. “Do that again.”

Q gingerly takes the pen then drops it back into Stark’s hand, wondering if the man has gone mental. Stark shrugs under Q’s quizzical gaze.

“Huh. Thanks,” Stark says, but he hasn’t even looked at the pen. He’s staring at Q’s hand.

“What is it this time?” Q is starting to think Stark has a hand fetish. Then again, it could be worse. At least it isn’t a foot fetish. Q has to repress a shudder when he remembers a honeypot mission 003 went on that involved a very unattractive man who was obsessed with feet.

“My skin doesn’t crawl when you do that,” Stark explains, but it isn’t really much of an explanation. 

“I’m flattered, I suppose?” He replies because what is he supposed to say to that? He wonders if there’s a manual for things like this. Not that he’d ever be caught dead reading something like “Social Interaction for Dummies.”

“I hate it when people hand me things.”

“Sorry?”

Tony shakes his head and grins. “No, it’s fine when you do it. Don’t you see? It’s fine when it’s you.” Tony is still shaking his head, as if he can’t believe it and Q is still pretty bloody confused, but he supposes he did something good even if he didn’t really do anything. The Alpha looks like Q just handed him a revolutionary piece of tech. He smiles likes James does when a mission somehow goes surprisingly perfect (Q has only seen that look twice). Q snatches the pen out of his hand so he can hand it over again. Tony looks shocked and Q is sure that if he could scent the Alpha he’d be smelling caramel, rejection, or perhaps something even more drastic than that. Rust for hurt, perhaps. It’s strange how fitting the scent would be on Tony; rust destroys an engineer’s creations, after all. Q wonders if it’s purely coincidence.

Q gently hands the pen back, this time letting his hand linger for a second before pulling away. Tony’s fingers curl around his for a moment. “Again?” Q asks, standing awkwardly until Tony nods. Q settles on the floor a careful foot away and they trade the pen back and forth, hands lingering longer and longer each time.

It’s silly and stupid and Q is pretty sure he shouldn’t be feeling peaceful and content. He’s about to call it to a stop when Tony’s smile grows even wider. Q turns away, but he still dutifully gives the pen back to Tony. 

“What do you think of red wine?” Q asks offhandedly, toying with a theory.

“Least favorite form of alcohol. I don't know why, but it's just gross. I almost never touch it. Why?” Tony replies, sounding puzzled.

It could just be coincidence, still...“Chocolate?” The beggar's scent, apologies and regret.

“I'm not a fan, but I buy some for Pep whenever I mess up.” Tony laces his fingers with Q’s.

Q slowly extracts his hand from Tony’s grip, leaving the pen. “Berries?” For the first time he'd kissed Alec.

“Depends which one. Blueberries are great; had some with Bruce the first time I met him. Are you trying to go somewhere with this?”

Q shakes his head, partly to answer Tony's question, partly in amazement at how ridiculous this whole soul mate thing is. To think, he interprets scents the way he does just because of Tony's preferences. Q had never been free. Never would be. He takes a deep, unsteady breath, the letters on his ribs constricting. “One last question: what scent reminds you of home?”

Q can feel Tony’s stare burn through him. “Huh, I’ve never really thought about it. Sorry. I don’t really rely on my sense of smell much. I’m guessing you do?” 

“Ya, I do. It's fine." Q doesn't know what home is like either. He used to - it had been cotton candy and vanilla and the tea they would bring to him in the morning - but now he's not so sure anymore. He's not sure of anything, really.

How much of himself is really him, and how much of it is Tony?


	27. Chapter 27

Tony fixes the toy – not that Q really cares about it now – and attempts to keep the conversation going. He asks Q a bunch of questions, but Q merely shrugs in response. He really isn’t in the mood for conversation. Eventually, Tony seems to take the hint and excuses himself. Q would feel guilty, if he had the energy for it.

Nono sidles up to Q and he pets her absentmindedly, her presence helping to keep him grounded. He’s about one second from having a panic attack. What if none of it is his? Him being Q, being _brilliant_ : what if it’s all Tony? 

Nono licks his cheek and he stares at her, wondering if he’d be able to understand her code if he’d been anyone else’s Omega. He hadn’t ever considered it before, that his mind might not his own. His body, he knew, was a traitor, but his mind…he’d always thought it was the one thing that was his. Q traces the letter on his ribs. Property of _Tony Stark_.

A knock on the door breaks his thoughts. “David, we have a problem.” Alec says as he walks into the room.

“JARVIS? Please turn off any monitoring in this room,” Q requests, even though he has no idea if JARVIS will honor it. “What is it?” Q calls from his spot on the floor. Alec looks at him strangely, but settles on the floor next to him nonetheless.

“Steve Rogers is headed here.”

Nono hisses at the name. “Your bond is that deep? You can sense where he is?” Q asks. Alec hadn’t mentioned that before.

Alec shakes his head. “That’d be helpful, but thank god no. It was in the news. I don't know how long until he gets here. ”

“What do you want to do about it? We can be on the first boat out of here. Plane, even.” Q understands the desperate feeling of needing to escape.

“But what about you? James?”

“This isn’t about either of us, and you know it.” Q wonders if they’re the words Stark would say in this situation. "You can't use us as an excuse. This is all on you."

“I don’t know what I want to do,” Alec eventually says, looking lost. Q waits. “It’s everything I ever dreamed of and never thought I’d get. It was just that: a dream. Now that it’s a real possibility…”

“It’s nothing like you imagined,” Q finishes for him. 

“I’m not strong enough to break it, but I’m too coward to confront him.”

“Then you must not be the man who tried to befriend me even as I had a gun trained on him.”

“That was different,” Alec protests. “People change.”

“Then maybe you can change Rogers.” 

“I shouldn’t have to. I don't want to have to.”

“There are a lot of ‘shouldn’t have to’s in our line of work." In the world. They shouldn't have to be here, having this conversation. Alec should have a mate that isn't a closeted jerk in spandex, James shouldn't still suffer because of what Vesper did, Stark should be bonded to an Omega that actually deserves him, and Q, Q shouldn't have - he shouldn't have done a lot of things. "Maybe change was too strong a word." Some things can't be changed. You just have to deal. "What I means is that you can teach him how not to be an idiot, kind of like you did me.”

“You’re still an idiot though,” Alec jokes.

Q smiles and instinctively leans towards Alec, only catching himself at the last second, when his head is but an inch from the Beta’s shoulder. Q straightens and scoots away a bit to ensure it won’t happen again. The last thing he wants to do is hurt Alec. “But not for this, right?”

“No, not for this,” Alec agrees quietly.

“There’s your answer then.”

“But-“

“It’s different?” Q interrupts. “It’s exactly the same. Your bond with Rogers is hurting you. The only thing that’s different is that you can break yours and I can’t.”

“Maybe I can’t break it. Just because there’s no name doesn’t mean it’s not there or any weaker,” Alec points out.

They stare at each other as realization sweeps over them. 

“We’re such idiots,” Q groans, his words mixing with Alec’s proclamation of, “We’re so fucked.”

“At least I brought some weaponry with me,” Q grins wryly. “Not to mention all this stuff Stark gave me could be potentially useful.”

“And here I thought maybe you’d gone soft on me and we’d end up double dating like happy little domestics. What is all that stuff anyways?” Alec gives the pile of gadgets on the bed a skeptical look. 

“Toys, I think. You know, there’s always the other option.” They could always kill Rogers, make it look like an accident.

“That isn’t an option and you know it,” Alec scolds.

Q shrugs. “I had to offer.”

“Should I offer for you?” Alec asks. 

“No. It’s fine…he’s fine." Q shakes his head. “Why did you punch him anyways?” 

“If he’s fine, why are we sitting on the floor?” Alec retorts.

“I asked first. And it’s a nice floor,” Q justifies.

“I asked last. And I bet the couch is even nicer.”

Q shrugs. “You know how my senses are linked to his sometimes? What if it’s more than sometimes? I think the way my brain interprets scents is because of his preferences and what if it’s more than just that?”

“You’re worried that what, you like the scents he likes?” 

“What if I’m only brilliant because I’m his Omega?”

Alec scoffs. “I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure bonds don’t work that way.”

“You joined the navy. Rogers was a soldier. You’re both ace shots, masters of hand to hand combat, and did you know he used to do covert operations?” Q points out.

“Coincidence. For all you know, it could even be the other way around. Anyways, soul mates are made for each other so it makes sense that we’d be a bit similar. Even if it isn’t just coincidence, does it really matter? It wouldn’t change anything. You’d still be you and I’d still be me. Besides, I’m pretty sure you’d have read about it by now if it were really true. You have a stupid number of books about bonds.”

“I only read the parts that might help me break mine. I skipped everything else.”

“Just look it up on the internet then.”

“The internet,” Q echoes flatly. “The internet is a travesty of misinformation and fantasies of preteen girls.”

“David,” Alec sighs, exasperated. Q knows he’s being difficult, but it’s important to him even if it doesn’t change anything. 

Thankfully, someone knocks on the door, saving Q from an imminent lecture. 

“Is Alec in there? I’d really like to talk to him.” 

Alec freezes mid sigh, an almost panicked expression appearing on his face. Alec looks at Q beseechingly. But this isn't MI6: Q isn't Alec's Quartermaster for this. He has no instructions or advice to give. Except...

“I think there’s a sort of flash grenade in the pile if you want to make a run for it,” Q informs benevolently. "Or, you know, we're only on the..." Q peers out the window, "62nd or so floor. You could always jump for it."


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the ridiculously long time between chapters but I've been kinda stuck with this story because I'm a a bit unhappy with it but at the same time unwilling to take the time to go back through it and change stuff.

Alec glares at Q, the unhelpful whelp. Then again… Alec walks to the window and considers it for a moment. 

If only he didn’t have to set a good example for the Omega. _You’re using me as an excuse,_ Alec hears Q complain in his head. 

Alec steels himself, scoops Nono out of Q’s arms, and opens the door. He even smiles, just for Q. _See? Some of us can act like actual adults,_ Alec thinks at the boffin, not that either of them are telepathic. Q will probably get the message anyways.

Rogers looks like shit. Well, not really; apparently being injected with a super soldier serum means he gets to look like he stepped straight out of a magazine despite having just arrived from a transatlantic flight, but Alec wishes he did. Look like shit, that is. Rogers doesn’t look like he’s been suffering at all, unlike Alec who lost the ability to help his best friend through his heats and has to watch helplessly as Q wastes away.

Rogers is fidgeting nervously, which looks ridiculous on a man of his stature. He looks stupid. He is stupid. “Well?” Alec snaps. In his peripheral vision he sees Q smirk. “I’m listening,” Alec amends.

“Uhm, can we, you, the cat,” Rogers babbles. 

Alec looks down at Nono. Her fur is on end and she’s brandishing her claws at the American icon. Alec surreptitiously pets her as he looks back up at Rogers. “What about her?” 

“Nothing.” Rogers takes a deep breath. “I want to apologize for what I said. It was wrong of me.”

“Is that all?” Alec asks, bored and unimpressed and more than a little bit mad. But a stupid part of him screams _want, need, want. Everything you thought you could never have. It’s Captain America for crying out loud._ He reminds himself that Captain America is a lie.

“I want to ask you to give us a chance. Please.”

“Do you think the bond can be broken?” Alec questions out of the blue.

Rogers looks panicked, but when he responds, “Do you want to break it?” his voice is surprisingly even. 

“It was a yes or no question.”

Rogers shakes his head in disagreement. “I don’t know. I never tried. Did you?” He looks heartbroken at the mere possibility. It occurs to Alec how much Rogers wears his heart on his sleeve despite the lie the captain is living.

Alec doesn’t know what to answer. Has he tried? He’s tried, of course, but he hasn’t _really_ tried. His attempts were more like pokings and proddings, but he wants to be able to say that he’s tried, prove that this means less to him than it does Rogers. It does mean less to him than it does Rogers.

“It’s a simple yes or no question,” Rogers smiles.

Q snorts in the background. 

“As much as I could.” 

"Is it because -"

"If you end that sentence with, 'I'm a Beta,' I will punch you," Alec interrupts.

"I was going to ask if it was because of our jobs. Tony told me that you're MI6 and with me being Captain America, it'd be hard to keep your existence in the dark. And because I'm Captain America I have to pretend to be an Alpha and you seemed really mad about that. I swear, I'm not ashamed of being a Beta. I would tell everyone if I could."

"Have you heard yourself on the news? You say the most sexist shit I have ever heard. I don't know if it's because you're from the 40's or whatever, but quite frankly I don't care."

"What? When?"

"Every time you ever used the words Alpha and Omega!"

"All I've said is that Alphas are supposed to look after their Omegas!" Steve protests. "Everyone in this century, everyone in every century says so. And what’s wrong with that? It shows how much we care."

"Just because everyone believes something, doesn't make it right. And what's wrong is that you think they're completely incapable. Your idea of care is sticking them inside a cage where they can't get hurt."

"What? I don't think that."

"You say that Omegas need to be looked after, but the only thing they need to be protected from is assholes like you. And you know, there is nothing stopping you from telling everyone. Nothing except for your own cowardice. A little bad press? You know what kind of shit Q has to deal with on daily basis because people like you, people who other people look up to and listen to, say shit like, 'Of course I'm an Alpha. I'm the fucking pinnacle of human perfection.' It doesn't matter what you think because people don't hear what you think, they hear what you say."

"I never- "

"But you might as well have." Doesn't he get it?

Steve takes a deep breath and stands tall. "I'll make it right. Help me?"

"It's not something you can just make right, it's -" Alec stops short when Steve looks him in the eyes. Steve's eyes are full of determination and for the first time, Alec can see how Steve is Captain America. "I'll help you, but it won't be easy and don't think for a second this means I like you."

"I get the feeling that after you're done telling me all the ways I've messed up, I won't like me either."

Alec grins. "Maybe there's some hope for you after all." He pats - forcefully hits - his mate on the back. He's pretty sure it hurts his hand more than it hurts Steve. Stupid super soldier serum. He'll definitely have to ask Q about that sometime. "You have to do everything I say though."

"As long as it's legal."

Alec scoffs. "Come on, show me your war room." 

\-------

"Sir David, my creator would like to know if you would eat dinner with him. I believe he has something he wishes to discuss."

"Sure." Q sighs and tries to find his resolve. He can do this. He commands at least fifty Alphas, arguably intelligent and extremely dangerous ones at that, on a daily basis. The laser in his back pocket - that only took him two hours to design and create - can melt a cubic foot of tungsten steel in less than a minute. He can get through a simple talk without having a panic attack about the source of his intelligence. Since when did he care about philosophical things anyways? 

“So I learned something interesting today,” Stark starts as Q sits down on the barstool next to him. Stark waves a hand at a box of assorted doughnuts, motioning for him to take one. “Apparently, Oxford has no records about any young Omega going through their ranks. I doubted that you were lying, so I rang a few people up, and boy did they have some interesting stories to tell.”

What? No. Stark wasn’t supposed to call. This can’t be happening, he can’t – Q breathes deep, makes half bloodied moons in his palms, and tries to keep from doing something irrational. Like running, or crying, or panicking. He wishes the he could disappear, that he could take back his stupid words earlier: this is what he gets for bragging, trying to flaunt what a clever boy he is to an Alpha. 

"Fucking brilliant, getting through college before puberty. They knew what'd you present as, but because you hadn't actually presented yet, they couldn't really say anything. Kind of sad how shocked they were that I was calling because I was considering hiring you. I got a lot of warnings." Tony rolls his eyes. "The administration really has it out for you. Seriously, what did you do?" 

Q relaxes a little. Even if they had told Stark something, he could always say they lied. "I made a lot of teachers unhappy. I was also blamed for about 70% of technical malfunctions on campus, for some reason." He grins at the memory. Best part of uni, that was. He was actually responsible for about 85%, the remaining 15% a result of other people's incompetency. Seriously, some people managed to muck up their tech so badly out of sheer idiocy that he couldn't do any worse to them if he tried. "Probably would've gotten in more trouble if the headmaster wasn't so stuck on the idea that I was adorably harmless, not to mention infinitely naïve for thinking I could actually pass engineering courses. I think to this day the old codger believes my teachers were only passing me out of indulgence."

"Wait, but I thought the teachers complained about you."

"I think he thought it was their way of covering up the fact they were sleeping with me. Not that he blamed them, or me. All in our nature, of course. I can't help but be drawn to such brilliant Alphas and who are they to deny me when I'm asking for it?" Q shrugs.

"You were like, 14."

"You really are as smart as they say you are. Relax. I didn't actually sleep with them. Unless you too believe I'm not intelligent enough to get by on meritable means." He raises a challenging eyebrow and snatches a chocolate covered doughnut out of the box, taking a celebratory bite out of it when Tony predictably shakes his head.

"Not what I meant," the Alpha protests. "I mean, I'm sure you're probably brilliant. It's probably the reason why you're my soul mate actually; fate probably figured I'd drive anyone somewhat normal insane. And don't even try telling me you're boring and normal when you don't have a digital trace and are married to a spy, who my spy friend happened to shoot."

Huh, now that he thinks about it. He hadn't gotten Tony's name until he turned seventeen and he'd been bright before then. Maybe it was just sensations that they shared? That'd make sense. After all, Omegas and Alphas don't really get their respective physical characteristics until puberty. "Anyways, stories?" Q asks, licking his fingers clean then reaching for a doughnut that doesn't look quite like a doughnut but appears delicious all the same. Who knew Americans made such great doughnuts? 

"Pretty much what you just told me, with a few more choice words. And less sass. By the way, cronuts are meant to be savored, not devoured like doughnuts."

Q glances at the paltry bit of pastry left in his hand. "Is that what this is? I've never heard of it, but it's amazing." He pops the last bit in his mouth and sucks at the traces of frosting it left on his fingers.

"That's not what I meant by savoring. Stop doing that. There's more in the box."

"Sorry, I've never been one for manners. Always found them boring, for people who care what others think about them. Didn't think you'd be particularly bothered." He grabs another cronut - what a strange name. 

"Ah, no it's just…ya, let's go with that." 

Q eyes Tony skeptically over his dessert/dinner, but doesn't ask. Curiosity has done him enough for one day.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by TriumphantDisaster <3  
> Edit on 4/19 holy crap I just realized I accidentally had Q introduce himself as Q instead of David and had Jarvis call him Q in the previous chapter. Whoops. Forget that ever happened! He's still David to all of them.

"So, want anything to drink? I have…well actually I don't know what I have aside from coffee and alcohol, but Jarvis does. Bruce keeps tea somewhere around here. You like tea, right? It's practically one of the requirements of being British." Tony springs off his seat and starts riffling through his kitchen cabinets.

"Tea would be great," Q responds.

"Er…you might want to look for yourself. There's a lot of variety," Tony says hesitantly, stepping to the side and waving a hand at a shelf that sports at least 20 different types of tea. Q slides off his stool and pads up to Tony, making sure to stay at least half a foot away from the Alpha. He squints at the handwritten labels, searching for Earl Grey and instead finding White Karkadé, Skullcap, Matcha-iri Genmaicha, and Mo Li Feng Yan, among other things. He has no clue what any of them are.

"I recommend the Hello Sweetie."

Q whips around at the voice.

"Bruce Banner." The man walks towards Q and extends a hand.

"David." He shakes Banner's hand and subtly scents him. He smells like an Alpha, but there's this…lingering trace of Omega. Yet, both scents are distinct enough that there's no chance he's a Beta.

Banner smiles and Q knows he's been caught. "Most people don't notice," the scientist remarks. "I wouldn't think about it too much."

Q rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry, instinct and curiosity." Banner nods understandingly. "It's nice to meet you Dr. Banner. I've heard about your work: mostly what you've done in remote regions, not the stuff you've done in labs. I'm not much a scientist, at least not in regards to what you do."

"And what is it you think I do?" The question has a bit of bite to it.

"Gamma radiation. More specifically, gamma radiation in relation to biological ailments and saving the Earth from aliens."

"Biological ailments," Banner chuckles dryly. "Never heard it put that way. Call me Bruce."

"Well Bruce, I've never heard of any of your ridiculous teas. Is this what Americans think tea is?" Q asks, gingerly picking a tin, unscrewing it a little, and sniffing. It smells like _raspberry_. And _coconut_. What the bloody fuck.

Bruce squeezes between him and Stark, deftly plucking out a tin. "I'll start you off easy. Earl Grey Crème should be similar to what you're used to. Better, but similar." Bruce grins.

Q raises an eyebrow at the challenge. "Have you ever even had proper tea before?"

"Are you guys really going to argue about tea of all things?" Tony calls from his position in front of an overly complicated looking coffee maker.

"England's honor is at stake," Q justifies indignantly. Not to mention, it's his _tea_. Insulting his tea is like insulting him.

"Should I have Jarvis have some rush delivered from Britain then so you can compare?" Tony offers, facing them once again. Behind him, the coffee machine is beeping in a manner that reminds Q of many a bomb. He wouldn't be surprised if it exploded, really. There are a lot of stories about Tony Stark blowing things up and you don't even have to ask to hear most of them.

"No need, I brought some with me in the event that something like this happened. It's in my suitcase."

"Since you're going through all the trouble, why don't we make this more interesting?" Banner muses. Q shrugs because, why not? "How many blends did you bring with you?"

"Four." Q sees where the scientist is going with this. "Best of three? If I win I'd like to know what you'd rather I not think about too much."

Bruce hums thoughtfully. "I'd like to take a look at the suppressants you've been on and ask you a bit about the effects they've had on you, if that's alright? I'm curious because I've never talked to someone who was on suppressants for so long. At least not on the ones that are readily accessible."

"Thinking of expanding your field of study?" Q inquires, a bit thrown off by Bruce's request. He feels strangely exposed by the mention of his suppressants.

"The doctor prefix isn't just because I have a PhD," Banner replies, sounding both sarcastic and confused.

"I meant into black market drugs." Q grins, outstretching a hand. "We have a deal." He's confident he won't lose.

\-------

"David, you have to put the cup down. I know you know what lab safety is," Banner orders, reaching for Q’s cup. Q pointedly stares at the empty pizza box peeking out of the trash can inside the doctor's lab, all the while clutching his cup of Hello Sweetie to his chest. Banner pinches the bridge of his nose. "I think you and Tony might be more alike that I originally thought. That's his pizza box by the way. Now, put the cup down. You can drink it later."

"Lab safety is for amateurs; it's mostly unnecessary when you know what you're doing. I bring tea into my workspace all the time. I've yet to accidentally poison myself," Q asserts.

Bruce acquiesces with a sigh, waving Q inside and leading him to a stool. Q slides onto it then pulls a tiny ziplock bag with two capsules out of his pocket. The scientist hands him a needle and rubber strip in return. "Would you prefer to do this part yourself? I read up on MI6. It seems you guys aren't fond of being poked by doctors. I can sympathize."

“How much reading? How did you even manage to get access and why?” Q asks, narrowing his eyes. When had they accessed his system? He hadn’t gotten any alerts.

“I wouldn’t worry about MI6’s digital security too much. Even Tony had trouble. He had to get Jarvis to hack it. We only looked at medical files. Of course, there was nothing on you, which is what we’d been hoping for. We’d thought it might help us fashion something to help prevent the two of you from accidentally bonding.”

Q makes a mental note to check. The doctor doesn’t seem like the the type to lie, but then again the man did manage to go into hiding for years and looks harmless as a fly despite the giant green rage monster simmering under his skin; appearances are often deceiving. “And now?”

“I care about Tony. Tony cares about you.” Bruce breaks a capsule over a slide and puts it under a microscope. Immediately, a list of components appears on the screen beside him. “There’s a reason why you’re here and it’s not to pay off a debt.”

“And if instead of keeping me alive and healthy long enough to pay off that debt, you end up giving me an out?” Q ties the band of rubber around his left bicep, squeezes his hand, taps his forearm for a vein, then slides the butterfly needle in. 

“Then you pay off the debt anyway. You just end up getting a choice as to what happens after and a new suppressant gets put on the market by Stark Industries.” Banner’s eyes flash toxic green in an obvious threat and Q almost drops the vial of blood.

Not because he is afraid, but because he realizes the reason why Banner’s scent is convoluted. The super soldier serum had turned Steve Rogers into a Beta, but with Banner...“The Hulk is an Omega.” The most dangerous, indestructible creature on earth is an Omega. Q wants to laugh. Doesn’t because there’s a needle lodged in his arm and that’s making him feel light-headed enough as it is.

Banner’s eyes slide to stare at his left hand. The same way Q’s hand sometimes finds its way to his ribs, but with affection and longing. Oh. 

“You used to be an Omega.” That makes even more sense. In a way, it makes Banner’s experiment more successful than Erskine’s. “What was her name?” Q pulls out the needle, undoes the band cutting off his circulation. Banner hands him gauze to staunch any bleeding. Q isn’t bleeding, but takes it anyways just to be polite.

“Betty. Her name used to be right here, around my ring finger. She loved that.”

“Does the Hulk-?”

Bruce shakes his head before Q can finish. “Tony checked.”

“How has nobody noticed?” 

“Usually when the Hulk is around people are more focused on running. And even if someone did manage to sniff him out, who would believe them? Not even they would believe themselves.”

Q takes a sip of tea, but all he tastes is bitter sadness. The Alpha - Bruce is an Alpha, it’s hard to wrap his mind around that fact - _misses_ being an Omega. It’s the most baffling thing. Q hands over the vial of blood, mind buzzing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q and Bruce as tea buddies :).


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta TriumphantDisaster. I can't believe how long this is getting.  
> Like the previous chapter, edited 4/19 when I realized my David/Q name flub up

Tony is not jealous. Not that Bruce isn’t someone that people shouldn’t be jealous of because he is, but Tony Stark is not people. Just because his soul mate likes Bruce more than he likes Tony doesn't mean…

Tony bitterly takes a sip of tea and regrets it immediately. He dumps the cup in the sink. He hates tea. So much.

They were in the lab _all night_. They ditched Tony for _tea_. It doesn’t even taste good.

“Rough night?”

Tony glances up. He hasn’t heard that voice in a while. “You too?”

Steve half smiles, half grimaces. “How do you feel about PR nightmares?”

“Speed dial 7 on your phone. Or, alternatively, just say ‘Blackout Protocol.’” Tony pauses. “You sure you want to do this? You hardly know him.”

Steve nods. “You hardly know David. And it’s the right thing to do. I’ve said a lot of things that I shouldn’t have. It’s...in my time, those kinds of things made Omegas happy. I don’t want anyone to think that I think less of them or that it’s okay to.”

Tony can’t really argue that, so he sets about eating the leftover doughnuts from last night’s dinner.

\-------

_“This is Lindsey Cognan from Zyx News and boy, do I have news for you today. We all know that Captain America returned to New York yesterday, but what you might not know is that Captain America just released a press statement, the first of many, declaring that he is a Beta, not an Alpha. I’m live here today on the streets of Brooklyn, asking citizens what they think of this astonishing reveal.”_

_She thrusts the microphone at a man walking by. “What do you think about the news that Captain America is, in fact, a Beta and not an Alpha like he’d always claimed to be? Why do you think he made this declaration?”_

_“I always knew there was something funny about him, the way he pranced around in tights. Disgusting, that’s what it is. A shame. He doesn’t deserve to be called Captain America. A hero? More like an abomination. I’d rather die than be ‘saved’ by **it**_.”

_“Well, there you have it. Can we really trust the man who has been lying to us for all these years? And why hasn’t he-”_

_A woman walking by snatches the microphone out of Lindsey’s hands. “What Captain America did was a courageous, inspiring thing and you should be ashamed of yourself if you think otherwise. He’s always been courageous and inspiring. It doesn’t matter if he’s a Beta or an Alpha or an Omega. His orientation doesn’t change the fact that he saved New York, that he punched Hitler in the face, and that he’s a hero. I think that-”_

_Lindsey grabs the microphone back before the woman can finish. “Well, I think we’re out of time. Back to the studio where Rob will tell us what he thinks.”_

_The camera switches to show the studio._

_“Well, Lindsey, who knows what else he’s been lying to us about, like what he was really doing in London. We all know that Betas don’t have soul mates because they’re biological defects, flukes at best. And it might not just be Rogers. Who knows what the other Avengers are hiding. Aside from Tony Stark, whose sexual endeavors we all know far too much about, they’re all mysteries to us. I think this whole business is sketchy._

_More than that, I think a lot of people just lost their hero.”_

\-------

“He actually did it,” Q remarks, amazement winning out over his anger at peoples’ stupidity. Beside him, James grunts.

“If Alec continues down this warpath he won’t be able to stay out of the spotlight. You know what that means, Q.”

“He’s past the average retirement age of a Double-O. Besides, MI6 could always use a liaison with SHIELD, ensure that nothing like the _Imagination_ happens again.” James raises a skeptical eyebrow. “We’d at least know that we’re ruining each others’ ops,” Q asserts. “The world needs him and Captain America to go down this warpath more than England needs 006.”

“He’s not doing it for the world.”

“No, no he’s not,” Q agrees softly.

James stiffens. “I think I may have underestimated you.” James is unreadable, his scent drowned out by a horrendous mix of expensive cologne and antiseptic at this distance, his face blank and body language unnaturally neutral. Ah. Despite the poker face, Q can guess what James is thinking: that Q had used them, mapped out a grand scheme on a chessboard and played them like pawns. At least that’s what Q thinks James thinks. But he’s a little biased.

“On the contrary, you overestimate my acting skills.” Or at least his ability to stay detached. “Nothing has changed with your grand revelation James. There’s no treachery, no treason, just a hint of motive, not even an ulterior one at that, and we both know you’re no Kant.” In a half second, James has him pressed against the wall, his hands pinned above him. Q doesn’t fight back, feigning nonchalance even though he knows James can feel the way his pulse jumps nervously.

“I suppose you planned this too?” James growls. “For me to get shot? Your own kidnapping?”

“One can only plan so much, especially when you two are concerned,” Q replies in a non-answer. “The real question is what you plan to do. Way I see it, there are three possible outcomes. One, you kill me. Although, we are on American soil and I don’t Stark would be too happy with you. Neither would M or Alec for that matter. Two, we continue on because nothing has changed. Three, you fuck me.”

James lets go as if he has been burned. Q doesn’t move.

“Shit Q, don’t do that. I could’ve actually hurt you.”

“You would’ve at least fucked me first,” Q snorts, sliding down to the floor and rubbing his wrists, which will surely bruise. “It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?”

“Not that good an actor my arse,” James grumbles. “And you’re not that attractive.”

Q shoves James lightly on the shoulder. “You’ve slept with worse for less.”

James shoves him back and Q tackles him to the floor (attempts to). This close, he can smell his husband’s actual scent. There isn’t a hint of distrust. Q grins to himself. Crisis averted. On to the next one. He plops his head onto James’ thigh and makes himself comfortable, staring up at the fond blue eyes that he has grown overly fond of. “Tell me, how does one plan a good date?”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I made a big oops in the previous two chapters, accidentally having Q introduce himself to Bruce as Q instead of David and Tony calling him Q. I went back and fixed it and please forget that ever happened! They both only know him as David.
> 
> Huge huge thanks to my beta, TriumphantDisaster. 
> 
> Yay for the longest chapter to date! 
> 
> See end note for chapter trigger warnings.

Q tinkers with the boomerang shaped thing that had been in the pile of gifts Stark had made for him. (And really, Stark couldn’t have named any of them for identification purposes? Then again, it's probably best that he didn't, seeing as Stark named his robots Dummy, You, and Butterfingers.) When tossed, it journeys around the room, leaving a soft light trail of gold and red behind it, then lands itself right back in front of Q. It never hits anything; Q had tried throwing it at Alec at point-blank and the thing had veered 90 degrees. At the moment, he’s reengineering it for his own purposes. (It’s not like he needs an automatic boomerang anyways. He can throw a boomerang just fine, not that he’ll tell Tony that.) For once, he’s not making a weapon. Q can’t remember the last time he made something for the fun of it, not worrying about logistics and lives. Occasionally, he looks up from the bench and at Bruce, who somehow always manages to catch him looking and smiles.

During the night of about a thousand medical tests, their conversations had started out as science, but ended in Q asking about Bruce’s life, Q struggling to understand how someone could miss being an Omega. Bruce hadn’t asked any questions in return - not even about the scars on Q’s ribs. He’d allowed Q to ask away until the only questions Q had left were ones for himself.

_“There is a theory about the serum, that it amplifies what you were before. What I was before…” Bruce had shaken his head. “I used to hate that I was an Omega. I blamed it for a lot of things. You don’t know how many times I thought, ‘If only I was an Alpha.’ Maybe you do. It’s how I ended up working on the serum. Nobody else would take an Omega onto their project, let alone fund one. I pretended it didn’t bother me, but that obviously wasn’t true. Anyways, I think that’s why the Hulk came into being. The serum enhanced all the ugliness, turned it into something I could no longer control or pretend didn’t exist.“_

_It hadn't escaped Q’s notice, the way Banner’s hands had trembled, the glass rod he was stirring with hitting the sides of the beaker, the quiet ring of glass brushing glass echoing through the room._

_“Even so, I spent a lot of time denying that he and I are the same, that I had so much capacity for revenge and destruction. And the more I fought it, the worse it got. It wasn’t until I finally accepted it, the way I’m always angry and how bitter I am, that I could finally get a handle on it. You see, David, when one is pretending, the entire body revolts.”_

_“I don’t have a Hulk.”_

_Bruce had chuckled at that, dark and bitter in a way that reminded Q of Silva. “Everyone has a Hulk. Theirs are just a little less big, green and jolly.”_

Q tosses the modified boomerang. It flops onto the floor. Bruce doesn’t even startle at the clang it causes. He hasn’t said anything all day, a stark contrast to yesterday. “I don’t want to be an Omega,” Q admits, breaking the silence. “I hate that my lizard brain craves their approval, that I want their - that I want so much to the point that I _need_.” It’s hard, finding words for feelings he’s never wanted to tell anyone about. That he doesn't even admit to himself. He still doesn’t want to, but it’s almost as if he’s compelled to, simply because Bruce _didn’t_ ask, because Bruce shared his own story with no expectation of reciprocation and Q gets the feeling that Bruce hasn’t told anyone before either. ”I hate their assumptions about me. I hate that they’re _right_. I prove them right time after time and-” Q chokes on the thought.

Bruce hums thoughtfully. “Do you know what shame is?” He asks. Q blinks. “Shame is the lie someone told you about yourself. I have no idea what happened to you, though I can guess, but I know that Tony is different. He would never lie to you, not like that.”

Q has no idea how he’s supposed to reply, so he bends down, scoops the boomerang up, and continues tinkering. The moment he finishes, he realizes how ridiculous his idea is, and scraps it. After some experimentation he figures out that what he’d thought to be a toy flash grenade is actually a mix between a schizophrenic disco ball and a mood ring. It’s perfect for his needs. After he makes a few adjustments - turning it into something more akin to a magic 8 ball - he hands the toy off to Dummy to deliver to Tony. Jarvis sets up a life feed and Q watches as Tony admonishes Dummy for taking something that isn’t his. Dummy, to his credit, shakes its single arm valiantly until Tony concedes to take it from the robot.

It lights up the moment he touches it and Jarvis shuts the workshop’s lights off. Tony’s eyebrows shoot up.

_Shake me._

The words are displayed on the surface of the orb, scrolling every which way, their light illuminating the room. Complying, Tony lightly shakes it.

_You call that shaking?_

The engineer laughs. The orb mutinously stays the same. Tony glares at it then hands it off to Dummy and the orb goes dark. Q sighs. Tony wasn’t supposed to give up. Q is a about to ask Jarvis to interfere when he hears Tony ordering Dummy to shake it. Q wonders if he’s serious about his threat to send Dummy to a community college. The robot isn’t to be blamed; Q had made the orb touch-activated so there’s no way the robot could get the orb to light up.

Tony must figure that out, because a second later the feed lights back up and Q can’t help but laugh at the sight. Tony looks like a kid (or an idiot) shaking the thing as hard as he can. The orb rewards him for his efforts, spitting out bright gold words.

_Date tonight, 8 p.m. Yes? No? Shake to reply._

As Q had expected, a full blown grin appears on Tony’s face. What Q hadn’t expected is for Jarvis to zoom the feed in until Q could see the word “Yes” reflected in his mate’s eyes. James had told Q to just, for God’s sake, ask Tony out like a normal person, or with a note and please leave out the yes/no bit because this wasn’t elementary school. The Double-O said that this was far too cheesy and ridiculous, that his mate would be happy either way, but Q had felt like he owed Tony some romantic gesture for all the trials Q had put him through. Seeing the way Tony’s face is lit up, he doesn’t regret his decision.

Tony shakes the toy.

_No?_

The Alpha frowns and tries again.

_No?_

He attempts it a third time, then a fourth and a fifth, all with the same result despite the fact he tries different shaking methods each time. “Am I going to be shaking this thing forever like an idiot?” Tony asks.

Q smiles and hits the enter key on his laptop.

_Yes._

\-------

Q is 26 when he goes on his first non-fabricated date. It's planned in part by the man he calls his husband, which is kind of strange, but who else would Q ask for help? The guy who accidentally shot his mate with a poisoned bullet? If asked, said husband would throw Q under the bus, claiming that the date was planned completely by him and that Q is hopeless. The date is nothing extravagant or grand; they both have enough of that in their lives as it is. Not to mention the fact that leaving the tower together would be a spectacularly idiotic mistake. (It kind of ends up being a disaster anyways.)

Technically speaking, Q doesn’t really go on his first date, unless one is willing to count the lift ride up to the in-tower movie theater. The extremely awkward lift ride.

At 8:05 Q is in the lab with Bruce, the Alpha explaining that no, he is not going to attempt to make a serum to turn Q into an Alpha, did Q not listen to what he was saying earlier? To which Q replies, “What, you don’t think I’m good inside?” Banner apparently thinks it’s a rhetorical question because he doesn’t reply. At 8:10 Q glances outside, realizes that it’s dark outside and that he’s late, and rushes to the elevator. When the doors open he rushes in, only to collide with a very solid chest.

“Well, someone looks excited. Eager?"

Q steadies himself then glares at James. “I think the ‘e’ word you’re looking for is exhausted, as in, I just ran all the way to the elevator because it’s rude to be late.” James smirks and Q is about to ask where he’s going anyways when the elevator stops and the doors open.

“Hey, David, how’re-”

“You’re late,” Bond growls as Tony steps into the elevator.

“He’s late too. So technically I’m right on time,” Tony points out. Then he squints at Q, rubbing his neatly trimmed goatee. “Wait, why are you late?”

“Bruce was questioning my morals.”

Stark blinks. “You mean like…” Stark glances up at Bond, who is looking down at them in equal parts amusement and condescension, and lets the sentence die.

Q stares at the ceiling, silently begging Jarvis to speed the lift up. Finally, the lift stops and the doors open. However, Bond slides in front of the door's exit before Q can slip out. Slowly, James pulls out a knife, a coil of rope, and a bottle of lube, and pushes them into Q’s hands. He nods at Q, flashes Tony a creepy grin, then steps out of the way, gesturing for them to exit. As the doors close, Q hears him yell something that sounds vaguely like, “Don’t forget to put your back into it!”

Q hates him.

“Uhhh, anything you want to tell me?” Tony asks. Q quickly hides everything. Never before in his life has he ever been so thankful to have pockets.

“I admire Stark Industries’ hiring policy?” Q half asks, half answers, doing his best to fake confusion.

“Thanks, but I meant the uhh…” Tony waves an arm, gesturing vaguely at Q’s person.

Q’s arms are empty and he feigns ignorance. “Hm?”

Tony shakes his head as if he’s clearing cobwebs. “Nothing. So, uh, what are we watching?”

“I have no idea. I told Jarvis to pick something.” Q eyes the fully stocked concession stand with glee. The movie theater itself is nothing to scoff at, with cozy couches and recliners, a screen that’s large, but not too large, and windows for three of its walls, but the concession stand is something else. It takes up the whole back wall, rows and rows of candy and drinks, with an adorable popcorn cart in the middle. As if sensing his thoughts, the popcorn machine starts up. Jarvis is the best.

“I think I’m in love. Jarvis, how do you feel about London?” He asks covetingly.

“If you would be amenable to putting some kernels, salt, and butter in the top of the popcorn cart, I might consider it. Be careful to not burn yourself.”

Q grins. “I think I can do that.”

“Are you flirting with my AI?” Stark asks, looking completely undignified with a growing horde of candy cradled his chest.

“I don’t know...I mean he is pretty hot. He’s got the whole competency thing going for him,” Q jokes.

Tony narrows his eyes and takes a vicious bite out of a giant gummy bear’s head. “We’ll see. Jarvis, start the movie. David, would you like to place another bet? If the movie is good, I’ll give you Jarvis’ hand in marriage.”

“I’d rather not. The last bet I took ended up in me being poked and prodded within an inch of my life, even if Bruce was far more competent than I’m used to. Jarvis was very helpful as well; I didn’t even have to take my trousers off.”

The Alpha plops into a seat. “Do most medical exams require you to take your pants off?”

“Only the fun ones. I think they just like looking at my arse.” The popcorn finishes popping and Q scoops up two giant bags before settling down a seat away from Tony (for logistical purposes. This way Q can put his own horde of food on the seat between them and they can share. See? He’s being nice.)

“Okay then. So, any reason for the sudden lack of animosity? I’m assuming the thing with the knife and the rope was just a joke and this isn’t actually all just a plot to lure me to my doom. You’re not close to dying are you? Because I’ve been there once and I know odd behavior is one of the symptoms,” Tony rambles as the opening credits scroll. He isn’t paying any attention to the screen. Q grins when he realizes what movie Jarvis picked.

“Please, like I would need those. Now shush, the movie is starting.”

On the screen, Iron Man appears. “No. We are not watching ‘When the Chitauri attacked.’ They picked Robert Pattinson to play me. I refuse to watch Robert Pattinson be me.”

“The guy had to get out of his Twilight career somehow. Besides, he’s easy on the eyes when he isn’t sparkling.”

“He’s not even flying the suit right!”

“You’re just jealous because his suit is prettier than yours.”

Tony glares. “Is not. His suit is some cheap movie prop mock up. It’s all special effects.”

The movie fades into background noise as they argue. Over half the explosions accentuate Q’s points so he’s pretty sure he wins. Seriously, how can the man have an IQ over 170 and think that the Widow’s Bite is an actually useful piece of tech? Q can think of at least 15 modifications that would make it much more useful. Like poison. Not only would it be more effective than electrocuting people, but also lighter and harder to detect. How can she be named after a spider and not employ neurotoxins? Tony insists that there are other versions of the gauntlet that has those features, but Q is still unimpressed.

“What kind of interrogation was that supposed to be?” Q complains when they’re at the scene where they’re all just _chatting_ with the evil Aesir that’s trying to enslave the human race. “Please tell me you didn’t just stand there and _talk_ to him. Is this what people think espionage is? Talking evil masterminds to death?”

“You’re missing the point David. They have me wearing Armani,” Tony moans, sounding like he’s physically pained by this. “I would never wear Armani. Do you have any idea how tacky and mainstream that is?”

“No,” Q deadpans because he couldn’t care less about who designed what suit even if he was dead. “You’re just trying to distract me from the fact that you didn’t deny that this happened. Really? Of all the parts of the movie that could possibly be accurate, it had to be this one?”

Tony throws a licorice at his head in response. “I’d like to see you do better against a psychotic God of Chaos.”

“I’ve done better against worse. I’m sure you’ve read 007’s mission reports,” Q retorts, chucking a skittle in retaliation. It hits Stark right between the eyes.

“You mean that bullshit that reads like a fantasy novel written by a prepubescent girl?” Tony flicks a gummy bear at Q.

Q plucks it out of the air and flicks it back. “I see you got your hands on the non-redacted reports.”

“You’re joking.” Tony bats the candy away from his face. “I thought that was just a joke you guys set up for anyone who made it into your network. And I still think Loki is more trouble. Your agent doesn’t have magical powers.”

“I wish I was. With the way James worms secrets out of people, I’m pretty sure he is magical because he is nowhere near that charming.”

“Wait, was thing about 0013 and the prime minister of Libya real? Because that was seriously disturbing.”

“Don’t tell me about it. I opted to not read the mission report on that on.”

“No wonder you think that interrogation through actually talking is weird,” Tony grumbles. “I think it's your techniques that are questionable, not mine. Seriously, she made him-”

“You Americans are just soft,” Q scoffs, cutting Stark off because he truly doesn’t want to know about what happened on that mission. All he knows is that he got a really warm, fluffy coat with many useful pockets out of it.

“Ya? We defeated you Britains you know. Saved you too, during World War II.”

“That was ages ago. You’ve gotten fat and plump on your arses since.”

“Did you just call me fat? Jarvis, did you hear that? I am not fat. Not even chubby. I am-”

“You’ve skipped all your scheduled gym days this week sir,” Jarvis interrupts. Q grins smugly at Tony and thanks Jarvis.

“Jarvis is a traitor and I’m plenty fit.”

“Technically, he’s British and on my side so he’s loyal. You’re the traitor to the crown here. And please, you’re the softest person in the tower.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “Look who’s talking.”

“I could easily take you in a fight,” Q says confidently. Ever since his kidnapping, James and Alec have been teaching him self defense and then some. Tony looks doubtful so Q pushes himself off his chair with a sigh. “It seems you need proof. Stand up then.”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re joking right? I’d break you even without the suit.”

Q smirks. “Don’t worry, if you get hurt someone will be here in less than a minute to carry you up to the infirmary and patch you up. Isn’t that right James, Alec?”

Tony pushes himself off the chair and they walk to the back of the room where there’s more space. “Jarvis isn’t giving them camera feed. They’re not watching.”

Q rolls his eyes as he shucks his cardigan. It lands with a thump, courtesy of the knife James had given him earlier. “You’re joking right? They’re either in the vents or outside, peering through one of the windows.”

“The tower has security against that.” On the screen, Loki is perusing Stark’s penthouse. 

“Consider your security compromised and hope they didn’t actually damage anything. Then again, you should probably focus on not getting damaged yourself. Ready?”

“No weapons or cheap shots. We go until someone yields or gets semi-seriously injured. Sound good?”

Q nods, they shake on it, and distance themselves. The second Tony turns to face him, Q lunges forward, fists raised. He punches, but pulls back the last second, twisting to the side and kicking Stark low in the leg. Stark stumbles, but he doesn’t lower his guard. True to the Alpha’s protestations, he’s sturdier than he is soft.

Stark grins, bounces on his feet a few times and rushes at Q. Q is prepared to block his punches. What Q isn’t expecting is for Stark to literally throw himself on top of him. Q is careful to keep his head from cracking against the ground, but gets the wind knocked out of him when Stark lands on top him. Q takes back his earlier thought. Stark is the fattest, heaviest American Q has ever met.

“Do you yield?” Stark jokes lightheartedly. Q shakes his head and quickly regrets it because it sends a wave of dizziness through him and Stark grows even heavier. “You _will_ kneel before me.” There’s dark and menacing promise in the words. He feels a hot puff of breath against his ear. Bile rushes up his throat at the thought of kneeling for an Alpha and what happened the last time he was captured. He forces himself to swallow it down and tries to focus on escaping. His vision fuzzes black around the edges - everything else is white pinpricks of light that he can feel, he can feel them, they're _stabbing_ him, and he can't breathe, there's no air and he can't see and he can't move he can't breathe. His captor is crushing him and his attempts to shove the Alpha off, slip out from underneath him, are met with failure because there’s no strength in his muscles, at least not any comparable to an Alpha’s. He’s trapped and at this Alpha’s mercy. Q thrashes, around, struggling to get free.

“Get off of me. Get off of me! I can’t-,” Q whimpers, fingers blindly searching for vulnerable spots to dig into in hopes that it’ll make the Alpha let go. The knife isn’t far. If he can get to the knife he can get free. “My name is David Bond. I’m married to an international salesman. I don’t know what you want with me please let me go. I swear I won’t say anything I just want to go home. Please,” he rattles off desperately, MI6’s training ingrained into him. Alec and James would be so proud. Where are they? They should be here by now. Wherever _here_ is.

The Alpha on top of him eases up and Q elbows him as hard as he can then dives for the knife in his cardigan. It’s in his hands and pointed at the Alpha in a second that feels far too long. He crouches into a defensive stance, back against the wall for protection, chest heaving as he takes huge, ragged breaths, greedy for oxygen.

The Alpha is cradling an arm and slowly taking steps backward. Going for a weapon? “David -”

“Let me leave.” His hands shake, but he can finally breathe again and his vision is starting to clear up, and he can spot the door despite the room’s poor lighting. It’s only five meters away. Q could make a run for it, but what if there are more guards outside? He hears an explosion in the background. Alec, probably. That would take care of the guards then.

“David,” the Alpha says placatingly, raising his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. “You’re free to go. I’m not keeping you here. You’re in Stark Tower, New York with your friends Alec and James. You can leave any time you want. I’m not going to hurt you. No one here wants to hurt you.”

Q wonders if it’s a trick. Then the information sinks in and he realizes what just happened. Shortness of breath, tunnel vision, a strong need to escape, unjustified amounts of fear: he just had a panic attack. A violent one at that, he adds mentally as he notices the knife he’s still clutching. He drops it, feeling like a fool. He hopes James and Alec had thought it was all a ploy on his part, or else they’ll forever think he’s weak and needs their protection. “Sorry. Flashback. Sort of. Forgot who you were and where I was. That’s the first time that’s ever happened.” He puts his head between his knees and rubs his temples, trying to get rid of the lingering fog in his mind. He’s safe. He’s safe. Nobody kidnapped him. If they did, he could kill them easily, Alpha or not. Q repeats the information in his mind, willing his body to get the message and calm down.

“It’s fine. I used to get panic attacks. You don’t get to have control over them; PTSD is fun that way. A surprise every day. Any guesses as to what set it off?”

“I know you did,” Q says grimly. “I could feel it when you got them. I think it was the movie.” That, and feeling hopelessly weak, but he’s only going to admit so much. It doesn’t matter what set it off because he’s going to make sure it never happens again, if only by sheer force of will. He got kidnapped once, big deal. He is the _Quartermaster_ of _MI6_. He killed his tormentor. He escaped. PTSD can kiss his ass. “It was Loki that said it, not you, right? To kneel?”

“Yeah, that was good old Loki. God of Chaos, I’m telling you. You okay now? Do you need anything? You want to talk about it? Hit something?”

Q shakes head, smiling a bit at the last one, which reminds him of what Bruce said about everyone having a Hulk. Tony seems to accept it, returning to the seats where he plops down to continue watching the movie. Q takes a few more minutes to collect himself, then sits in the unreasonably comfy seat next to Tony’s, abandoning his earlier seat. He’s not hungry anymore. Still, when Tony hands him half of a giant Kit-Kat, he takes it.

Q watches Tony more than he does the movie. The Alpha smiles proudly whenever the Hulk appears on screen, smashing aliens, grimaces whenever one of the Avengers takes a hit, and twitches when civilians appear to be in harms way, as if he forgets they’re watching a movie and can barely stop himself from leaping forward and saving him. What really catches Q’s attention though, is the morbid fascination with which Tony watches actor Tony fly into the portal in the sky. His whole body tenses up, hands digging into the armrests, and he holds his breath. Q gently places a hand on his shoulder, a reminder that he’s here, not in the suit and lost in space. Tony gradually relaxes and smiles Q’s way. Q shrugs and turns to watch the movie with rapt attention, as if he hadn’t been observing Tony the whole time. The Hulk catches Iron Man, whose suit is apparently so compromised that they have to pry it off of him, along with his shirt. Tony snorts at the artistic liberties taken. Q stops having to feign his interest, but he’s seen better.

“I’ve seen better,” Tony remarks, voicing Q’s thoughts.

“Not in the mirror you haven’t,” Q retorts.

“How would you know?”

“Jarvis showed me some interesting footage the other day,” Q answers with a smile.

“What? What did he show you? He didn’t show you the-” Tony stop mid sentence. Q raises an eyebrow.

“The what?” Q asks.

“Nothing. What did he show you?”

“I’ll tell you...if you tell me what you were going to say and what you’re so worried he might’ve showed me. In detail,” Q bargains. Tony narrows his eyes. “I asked Jarvis to not tell you about my activities and I’m pretty sure he’ll honor our agreement, so if you ever want to know…” Q trails off.

“Fine. So there was this incident involving a shrink ray...” Tony begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger: PTSD/panic attack
> 
> Also I love lifeadvice!Bruce. And comments. Constructive criticism is great and welcomed. If you don't want to post it here, my tumblr is http://misadventureofme.tumblr.com/ and you can send me an anon ask :)


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super slow update. Finals >.  
> As always, much thanks to my beta, TriumphantDisaster and all mistakes remaining are my own.

The benefit of having planned the boffins’ date is that James knows where Q and Stark are going. He hides a few cameras and microphones in the movie theater and asks Jarvis to keep it a secret. The AI reluctantly agrees, with what James would swear is a sigh of disapproval. He almost starts justifying his actions to the AI, but catches himself in time. He is not going to explain himself to a computer. It was either this or hanging outside the window or crawling through the vents, neither of which would be comfortable nor convenient. Q would be proud of how pragmatic he’s being.

James settles down on the common floor’s couch, as it has the best entertainment setup in the tower that he’s found so far and it’s close to the kitchen. His room is nice, but it doesn’t have a full service bar.

Unsurprisingly, Alec settles down beside him. What James doesn’t expect is to see Captain America walk into the room, trailing behind Alec. “Shouldn’t Captain America have moral issues with spying on two people just trying to have a date?” He asks. He'd though Alec would have to give the Captain the slip. It seems they're already attached at the hip.

The captain shrugs. “Patriot act, wiretapping, the NSA. America really has no qualms with spying. Besides, I work for the largest spy organization on Earth. I’m just concerned about Tony and want to know more about David. He’s Alec’s friend, after all.”

“You run around in a blue spandex suit.” There is nothing spy-like about a bright blue spandex suit.

“That’s how you know I must be good. Also, the last time I wore spandex was in the 40's.”

James shoots a glance towards Alec. _You’re dating an old man. You’re technically being cradle robbed._

Alec rolls his eyes and points at the TV. “I’m trying to pay attention to how ridiculous this is.”

James glances at the screen, looks at the amount of sugar the two geniuses are amassing, and is almost embarrassed for the pair. He chuckles when he sees how jealous Stark is of his AI. James doesn’t blame him. James has never seen Q flirt before, except for impure purposes - not the get in someone’s pants kind of impure, but the I’m going to blow up your terrorist organization kind. Of all _things_ to flirt with, Q would choose a computer. Maybe he should have a talk with the boffin about safe sexting.

There’s a pitter patter of footsteps and Banner, who’d been the one to stitch him up, walks in. “Bruce Banner, nice to meet you,” he says to Alec, who introduces himself in turn. Bruce nods a greeting at James before taking a seat. “I’d like to state for the record that I disapprove of this because spying on them is wrong, but if I got any more anxious thinking about ways it could go wrong we’d have a big problem on our hands.”

A second after he’s done speaking, the Black Widow slips into the room, taking a seat next to Bruce. It’s a spot where she can watch both them and the TV. She shoots a glare at James. “I’m here in case there’s a big problem anyways. I wouldn’t trust you to handle it.”

Get shot one time and a woman will never let you forget it. James ignores her in favor of watching Q argue with Stark. It’s pretty entertaining, watching them glare at each other, Stark’s hands moving a mile a minute and Q looking generally unimpressed. Bruce is shaking his head, Steve’s eyebrows are furrowed in displeasure, Alec is smirking, and the Black Widow just looks bored. Aside from when Q brings up her gauntlets, at which point she alternates between being insulted and thoughtful about his suggestions, she doesn’t even twitch once.

 _“Good plan,”_ Alec mouths.

_“Better than anything David would have come up with on his own. It’s not my fault the-”_

“They’re children,” Bruce mutters and James stops mid-sentence to glance at the screen. They’re throwing candy at each other. James feels like he just scheduled a play date. Next time he’ll get them a ballpen and some inflatables.

“They’re worse than children,” the Black Widow corrects. “At least with children you can hope they grow out of it.”

“At least they haven’t started attacking each ot-” Captain America starts to say hopefully, only to watch the two boffins leave their seats to an area better suited for a fight. The soldier sighs. He looks like he’s about to throw his hands up and declare them hopeless.

It’s really not that unexpected if you know Q. The Omega has always been desperate to prove himself any way he can. The urge is probably even stronger with Stark; whether Q likes the man or not, the American has always been on Q’s mind, most likely as someone Q wants to prove himself to be better than.

“My bet is on David,” Alec quips helpfully.

\-------

"You really need to work on your seduction technique," Alec says as he pokes Q to wakefulness. "I mean, really? Throwing gummy bears at his head?" Q would hit the blond, but he's holding a cup of tea.

Q blearily glares at him and snatches it out of his hands, taking a sip before fully opening his eyes. It's one of Bruce's blends. Not one that he's tried before, but heavenly all the same. "It seemed like the appropriate course of action. I'm glad you and James found it amusing. Vents, windows, or cameras?"

"Cameras," James replies, handing Q his glasses. "Bruce, Captain America, and the Black Widow joined us."

The Omega groans. "So you all got to witness my panic attack. Wonderful."

James pats him on the head. "Yeah, we'll work on that later. You were taken down by a hug of all things. Anyways, if it makes you feel better, Alec and I thought you were faking it. At least until you pointed the knife at Stark."

Q raises an eyebrow.

"You do play pretty dirty pool," Alec chimes in.

"I don't doubt that. It's the hugging bit that I'm feeling skeptical about."

James smirks. "Didn't you wonder why it took him so long to get off of you?" Q actually doesn't have any recollection of how long Tony was on him. "Jarvis?"

A holoscreen pops up in front of Q and yup, there's Stark on top of him, nuzzling his neck. The hell. The Alpha hadn't taken him seriously at all.

James lays a hand on Q's and gently uncurls his fist. Q looks down at the angry crescent marks he hadn't even realized he'd been making. "There's no reason to get angry. I'm sure he took you seriously. Don't judge him too negatively. Whenever I pin you I have the same urge."

Huh, Q hadn't known that. Though, he probably should have; Alphas, they're all brutes. "You're my husband. It's different."

"Stark's your soul mate and James is practically gay," Alec interjects. "Anyways, I'm pretty I get the same urge and I know for a fact that some of the other Double-Os do as well, but they're scared of what'll happen to them if they try something. Face it, you're just cuddly."

"Please tell me exactly what about me you find cuddly," Q orders. He doesn't ask which Double-Os Alec is referring to. He doesn't want to know. He has a feeling he already knows.

Alec and James share a look then shrug simultaneously. "No clue," they say. They're lying through their teeth and they all know that Q knows that. They obviously just don't want to answer the question.

"Think about it," Q insists, grabbing his laptop from the bedside table and booting it up. He lazily glances at his agents over the top of his laptop, typing and pretending he's about to erase their existence or something if they answer wrong. Or don't answer at all.

"It's the hair," James says smoothly, while Alec says, "Cardigans."

They both turn to look at Alec.

"They look soft?" Alec tries.

If the tea wasn't so warm and caffeinated and all things good in the world, Q would dump it on them. Or set fire to them, as the old saying goes, if he wasn't a few inches away from either of them. As it is, he puts Alec - and all of his identities - on the blacklist of his favorite restaurants and bars. Q would blacklist James as well, but James' favorite restaurant happens to also be Q's favorite. Instead, he just pushes back the date James will receive the Aston Martin he's been dying to get by another month. If James dies of natural causes, he'll get the car a good 20 to 30 years after he's in the grave.

"Anyways, what did you think of him?" James asks.

Q scoffs. "Did you give Alec the same talk you're about to give me?

"Alec is a licensed assassin. He can take care of himself."

"Alec can't kill a man across an ocean without even getting out of bed."

"Alec could kill any man or woman - aside from me of course - with his bare hands. You can't."

"Want to test that out?" Q mutters testily. “Currently, I like Stark more than you two menaces. But you don’t truly know a man until you know his internet history. And I can’t access his.”

"Personally I find passwords much more revealing," James imparts.

At the same time Alec blurts, “Wait, have you-”

“You should probably tell Rogers about those.” Q smiles. “Speaking of Rogers, why aren’t you bothering him? I thought you’d be his problem now.”

“He’s okay, but I wanted to be with you. You’re heading back soon, right?” The implication that Alec will be staying in the states with Rogers isn’t a surprise. Alec will probably stay hidden for a while, just in case things go south, but he’ll probably quit MI6 and end up becoming the head of some sort of Beta revolution. It’s not Alec’s sort of gig, but Rogers seems like an all or nothing kind of guy and Alec is infatuated with the man, if the way he reacted whenever Rogers was on the TV was any indication. Now that Rogers is finally accepting the fact that he’s a Beta there’s nothing stopping Alec from falling head over heels, the stupid romantic. Nothing too important at least.

M will be furious.

“Tonight,” James affirms, which is news to Q. “The honor is all yours.”

Alec beams and sidles up to Q. “If it makes you feel any better he really did give me this talk. Right, so no sexting any artificial intelligence or giving away MI6’s secrets…”

Alec is touching him. Alec’s side is pressed against his and isn’t flinching away. Q scooches closer and when that doesn’t seem to have any adverse effects he wraps his arms around the Beta and breathes in his scent. Q missed this.

“Are you listening to me? This is important. You are not getting pregnant, understand?”

“You’re an idiot,” Q mumbles into his friend’s shoulder. “I couldn’t get pregnant even if I wanted to, not after years of suppressants messing with my hormones. Anyways, I’m not the slut here.”

Alec looks down at him, confusion written into his brow. “Huh?”

James sits on Alec’s other side and pointedly wraps an arm around the Beta.

“Huh. You can touch me.” Alec ruffles Q’s hair. “The bond isn’t protesting. I guess close proximity to Steve helps.”

Q sneaks a look at James. The Alpha looks as skeptical as Q feels. Close proximity, Q’s arse.

“Hey, I saw that,” Alec protests. “I mean it. Not all of us are like you, rolling around on the floor on our first date.”

“He tackled me.”

Alec shakes his head and shoves off the bed. “Come on. We’re going to the gym. James has obviously been slacking in your training while I’ve been overseas. We can cuddle after.”

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to TriumphantDisaster for the beta. :)

_Right after Captain America returned to New York from London and announced that he's a Beta, Tony Stark is leaving for London. Coincidence?_

_Just a few days ago we asked you what the other Avengers might be hiding. Could it be that Tony Stark is a Beta as well and afraid Captain America will give his secret away? Or is he just as shocked by Captain America’s announcement as we are? There was speculation the two were romantically involved. It’s possible that their relationship has gone awry, if the last few months are any indication._

_This brings up another big question. If Captain America is a Beta then does he have a mate? His alleged reason for staying in London for so long was because his Omega was there, but does he really have an Omega? And is Stark’s Omega truly dead or is that a cover up? There are no records in any databases of Stark’s soul mate._

_Lastly, what does all this mean for the Avengers? For the citizens of New York?_

_We’ll have answers for you soon. Tune in tomorrow at 7 p.m. Meanwhile, tell us your thoughts @Zyx News on Twitter._

\-------

It's a drizzly Saturday when Q returns to London, one Double-O in tow, the one he left with left behind. They come together on the sofa, whispering apologies like they're analogous to breathing.

"I'm sorry," Q murmurs against James’ lips. James’ hands cup his cheeks, thumbs wiping away tears that aren't there. Q doesn't know how long they've been like this and he doesn’t know why either. Apologies won’t change anything. He feels like James is waiting for something, eyes searching Q's, but Q has already given him everything. James has already had Q's tears twice. Q will not cry for him again. Thrice would be a pattern. (Of what, he isn't sure.)

"I wish," James starts and Q leans forward, capturing his lover's lips so he can't finish his sentence. Because at most, that's the most a wish will ever get either of them: a kiss, nothing more. "It shouldn't be like this," James says when it ends.

"We were silly to think it could be anything but. You can't get over Vesper and I can't…a lot of things, but now I can't not." This was never meant to be a permanent solution. Q’s fate was practically inevitable and it’s a miracle that he managed to put it off this long as it is. Bruce has promised him that he’ll look for a solution and the scientist is brilliant, but the odds of success are low. Besides, Bruce had also shown him the data he’d gathered on Q’s hormone levels, blood work, etc. and while Q wasn’t an expert, it wasn’t hard to see that he needs to stop taking suppressants. The fact that Q feels dizzy whenever he stands up, despite having been plastered to James’ side the past six days during the ship ride back is also a pretty good indication.

"That's a double negative,” James points out, breaking Q out of his thoughts. What was a double negative? Oh, right. Things he can’t not do.

"Fitting, isn't it?" He jokes.

James doesn't laugh. "Silly, was it?"

"You named our cat Nono," Q points out. James grabs Q by his shoulders and gently pushes him onto his back before bonelessly flopping on top of him. Q cards his fingers through James' hair even as he complains, "You're heavy, you git."

"Shut up. It's not my fault you're so frail. Put your back into it or something."

"I'm not frail, you're just old and fat." Q shoves at James' shoulder. The Alpha doesn't budge more than an inch. His eyebrow raises by a fraction as if to say, "Really, that's the best you could come up with?" Q huffs and resigns himself to his fate.

"I'm just trying to make up for you."

"I'm no longer that young," Q points out. "My spots have been gone for years."

"God, I hated you then. You’re okay now. You've gotten worse at insults over the years. I think you've gone soft."

"I knew you did. Why did you think you only got a gun and radio to take down one of MI6's most dangerous enemies? Learned my lesson about that, actually. I haven't gotten soft, just more pragmatic."

"I changed my mind. I still hate you. Even though you are just bluffing."

Q doesn't believe him for a second. "If you hated me, we'd be having wonderful, athletic sex against a wall right now."

"Only you would take someone's reluctance to sleep with you as a compliment."

"Only coming from you. It's probably the highest compliment, really. A bit insulting though, that you still place me in the same category as Vesper." James tenses at her name. Q internally curses at himself for the misstep. "I'll go get the vodka, if you'd let me up," he offers as apology.

James shakes his head, although he does roll a little bit off Q so he isn’t crushing him anymore. Now, Q just has a giant arm anchoring him the sofa.

Before this thing with James had started, before he'd even become Quartermaster, he'd read James' files like they were a novel, inserting his imagination in the blacked out spaces of the Alpha's stories. It was a rite of passage in MI6, one rife with speculation. Every mission (except the one), every move, was carefully scrutinized as they tried to deduce if the man that made the agent was still sane. But more than an analysis, it'd been a game. A reminder that one of them was living the glamorous spy game that Hollywood dreams of. As if glamour was blank spaces and tales so gruesomely twisted they couldn't be phrased to fit within the given space so instead there'd be an ellipses, one dot for every dead body or five.

In the thick folder that is the only physical remnant of the woman named Vesper Lynn, the papers wrinkled from the kind of water damage that happens when you set a cold glass atop a page because you can't be bothered to care and aren't going to flip the page, those three dots are all James ever gave to MI6.

James has never talked about her to Q. He doesn't have to. Q had dug and dug until M had pulled him away, warned him to let buried bodies stay in their graves. It was only after James' supposed death that had M told Q the few details she’d known, mostly so he'd agree to arrange for the care of her grave in James' absence. It'd only been a few words, but it'd been enough for him to guess what had happened.

The two agents had bonded, most likely by accident. She had probably been going into heat without knowing it and James had been affected by it because he cared for her too much - caring does strange things. Shortly thereafter, she'd killed herself. James had pronounced her a traitor, and while it's a believable story, M had known him too well to ever believe him. _"'The bitch is dead?' You’ve read his psych profiles.”_

_“You mean how he called you a bitch?”_

_“His mother too.” M smiled. “007 loves bitches. He wouldn't love a traitor, bonded or not."_

Q's not sure if that's true. He used to. Used to think that Bond was cold as he was classy. That for 007, country came before everything. He's unsure if that's changed, actually. Their relationship might be a mission assigned from M to keep Q useful, for all Q knows. Knowing is different from believing though. It’s funny how trauma works. One hour out of hundreds of thousands should hardly a blip on the radar, yet it might as well be a bomb crater that’s letting off radiation for how carefully they avoid the topic, painfully aware of how visible the damage is. 

"Even if things had been different, your Omega would've shown up eventually," Q speculates, breaking the silence. "At least we had a good run of it. Could've done without you getting shot though."

"I think we both could've done without that," James mumbles. "The Black Widow…"

"Yeah, imagine that," Q agrees, but James has fallen asleep and Q is now stuck. It’s not uncomfortable, he just hopes James doesn't somehow end up rolling atop him in his sleep. It's hard enough to fill his lungs as it is. James nuzzles the top of Q’s head and Q sighs.

He falls asleep, surrounded by the comfortable warmth and scent of his Alpha.

When he wakes up he’s alone, a beige blanket he’s never seen before draped over him. He allows himself a brief moment of weakness and rubs his cheek against the soft material. It smells of James. Under different circumstances it’d be a perfect - if not ridiculously expensive, Q is pretty sure it’s cashmere or something - gift for a nest. Under different circumstances Q would’ve rejected it despite having instantly falling in love with it. 

Q scoops up the blanket and carries it to his bed. He allows himself to think for a moment about how things could have been if they weren’t both so screwed up. Then he gets ready to head to MI6.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my awesome beta TriumphantDisaster as always! All remaining mistakes are my own.

_“So I hear you guys have some questions for me,” Tony Stark says, tipping his sunglasses down as he exits Stark Tower London._

_Immediately, reporters start shouting questions, shoving mics at his face._

_“Uh no, that’s not how it works. I talk, you guys listen.” Silence falls over them. One reporter tries to take advantage of the silence and opens his mouth to speak. Stark places an index finger on the man’s lips before he can say anything. “I, and all of the other Avengers, have known about Steve’s gender for a long time. Note that I didn’t say status. Whether you’re a Beta, Omega, or Alpha should have nothing to do with your status. We all fully support his decision to come out._

_I wish I could’ve stayed in New York to help him with all this media bullshit, but I lost a bet to Pep, so here I am, being a responsible adult and working at the R &D branch in London._

_As for whether Steve and I have ever done the dirty doozy, raunchy rumba, frantic forky, high-end horsy, or all the above, well… I’ll let you pervs think about that. Our personal lives are personal, so you can speculate all you want as long as you don’t cross any lines. If you do…” Tony grins and waggles his eyebrows._

He looks ridiculous and dangerous at the same time, and Q has no idea how that’s even possible. (The Double-Os always look ridiculous, but not so much dangerous.)

_“How will we know if we’re crossing a line?”_

_“Oh, you’ll know. Tread carefully, my darlings.”_

\-------

All activity ceases the second Q steps into Q branch. The Alphas don’t even try to hide the fact that they’re scenting him as he walks by, trying to figure out if he’s bonded. That doesn’t bother him. Much.

What bothers him is the fact that R - not appointed by him, he hates the smug bastard - is sitting at Q’s desk, has made himself at home, and looks as if he has no intention of leaving.

“R, thank you for taking over my duties while I was on vacation,” Q says, faux-politely.

R’s answering smile is faker than Q’s politeness. “I’m surprised you’re back so soon.” Meaning he’s surprised Q has returned at all.

“New York was pleasant, but I missed ordering you lot around. Now if you’d return to your desk, I have work to catch up on.”

R makes no indication of moving from where he’s sitting. “One minute, just let me finish guiding 0013 out of this warehouse.”

Q leans over the desk and switches the audio to speakers, rather than R’s headset. “By all means, go ahead.”

“Wait, is that Q?” 0013 asks, like Q had known she would. “He’s back? Put him on. He’s much better at this than you are.”

“You’re five minutes from the destination,” R protests.

“Which means fifteen with you. Now put Q on.”

Q smirks at R and shoos the prat out of his chair. He takes in the information on his screen. “I missed you too,0013. Now take that left and be mindful of the man chasing you.”

“You wouldn’t let him catch up to me though, would you? I thought we were friends.”

“Of course not. I’m not R,” Q assures quietly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Q see’s R’s head rear up so fast he’s surprised the Alpha doesn’t get whiplash.

“Up the stairs now. Your helicopter will be the one on the left. Feel free to destroy the other one if you feel so inclined. Just keep it discrete.”

“Can’t you steal it for me?” She asks. “I’ve always wanted a helicopter of my own.”

“You’re on speaker, 0013.”

“I know.”

Q sighs. “Have a safe trip.”

No sooner has he said the words, Tanner appears. “M would like a word with you,” he says as discreetly as possible, leaning close to Q’s ear.

All of Q branch turns to look at them. Probably thinking he’s going to get fired, if the way they start snickering like little children is any indication. He half thinks he’s going to get fired. Not that they could. He’d just hack into their systems _then_ save all their arses.

As if his day wasn’t going to be hard enough. Q takes a deep breath and follows Tanner out, shoulders squared and head held high. Thankfully, they don’t run into anyone on the way to M’s office.

“Q, how was the vacation?” M asks without looking up from his desk.

“Good. I doubt you asked me here to talk about my vacation, though.”

M sets down his pen and Tanner shuts the door as he leaves. “I hold no doubts of your abilities, nor your authority over certain Double-Os. But many others do, especially given your current situation. They’re the kind of people who will always have doubts though, no matter what you do.”

“So give them hell?” Q says wryly.

“I would never suggest anything of the sort,” M condemns, but his eyes hold a spark of mischief. “Now, your report, please.”

“Alec is staying in New York for an unknown amount of time, perhaps permanently. I suggest we make him a liaison with SHIELD so an incident like the Imagination never occurs again. Also, it’ll be good to keep tabs on their activities.” M nods in agreement, so Q continues, “Bond will finish recovering in a few weeks and be ready for field work again. We’ll need a new 006. I suggest Suzi Kew to be his replacement. While I’m at it I’d like to suggest a replacement for R.”

“That’s bold of you to say,” M comments.

“He’s bullheaded, too sure of himself -”

“Are we talking about R or you?”

“I have the wits to back it up. As I was saying, the Double-Os aren’t very fond of him and -”

“If you were to become M, he would become the Quartermaster and cause all sorts of problems for you,” M interrupts once more.

“When,” Q corrects. M raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t contradict him.

“Well, Q, that’s all I needed. You’re dismissed. Don’t forget to fill out the necessary paperwork.” By paperwork, M means the forms that are to be filled out when someone has bonded or married.

"Not necessary. I haven't even sent in the divorce papers yet.” Q takes his leave.

"Why didn't you just choose someone at MI6?" M asks as Q's hand is on the doorknob.

"I'd be bound to kill him." Just look at what happened to the first two. Not to mention, Q would never submit to anyone, let alone someone in MI6. With Alec and James he never had to, was never asked to in even the slightest of ways, but he's pretty sure they're the exception to the rule that is MI6 Alphas. Maybe all Alphas? Q isn't sure. All he knows is that MI6 is full of control freaks.

He sends a quick text to Tony  as he walks back to Q branch, cancelling their dinner date. He has mutiny to crush and fail-safes to create.

\-------

Q sighs and rolls his shoulders. He doesn’t attempt to rub his temples; he has tried that a thousand times before and it has never helped before. The clock on his desk informs him that it’s only 1:06 AM, mocking his body’s weakness. As if his subordinates didn't already do that enough today.

Only 354 minutes until another white pill. How many more before he’s fucked?

He pushes the thoughts aside and gets back to somehow budgeting for replacements for all the equipment his agents have stolen, destroyed, and lost. He wonders if the PM will find it acceptable if MI6 anonymously gains some funds. It has been a while since he last siphoned money from a drug lord’s bank account. It’d be a lot easier than trying to get higher ups to expand his budget or getting the Double-Os to behave, that’s for sure.

He could always cut R’s salary…

Q’s phone vibrates, saving R’s livelihood. For now.

 _You’re an executive type, aren’t you? They always stand me up for paperwork. Paperwork isn’t even fun._ Tony Stark.

 _Does it bother you?_  Q asks in return.

_Does what bother me?_

Q hesitates, decides it’s best to not ask questions he already knows the answers to. Instead, he types, _The fact that the world thinks you’re an irresponsible dork._

_You mean a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist._

_Do you have that patented?_

_Yup. Just Tony is fine though. So, are you hungry? I could drop by MI6 with some food and caffeine._

_~~You don’t know where~~ You are not coming to MI6._

_Ouch. Ashamed of what the colleagues might say? I’m a pretty good catch, you know._

Q rereads what he'd typed and feels a bit guilty about how harsh he sounds. Stark is close to the target, although probably for not the reason he thinks.  _Matters of national security, actually. I’ll make it up to you. Brunch tomorrow at 11? Well, today, really._ It’s Sunday, he has time for brunch. Almost. 

_Sure. Since we can't be seen together in public I'll bring something by your place._

 


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by TriumphantDisaster <3

Q turns to his side, covering his exposed ear with a pillow, trying to ignore the annoying beeping noise that threatens to drag him out of sleep. He’d been having a really good dream, too.

There’s a loud yelp and he’s about to yell at whomever it is that’s making all this ruckus when realization hits him. Stark. Shit, shit, shit. He had forgotten to tell him about the security system. The loud beeping is the sound of his security system warning him there’s been an intruder. Q snaps from asleep to startlingly alert far too quickly to be comfortable, throws his glasses on, and rushes for his front door to rescue the Alpha from being skewered to death.

He opens the door, smiles weakly at Tony, and starts keying in the code to unarm. Then he does a double take. “You wore your Iron Man suit here?” Q asks, looking down at the Alpha, who is currently entangled in heavy netting. Q peers around the doorway, and sure enough, the metal spikes meant to skewer any intruders are scattered all about, repulsor blasted out of place. He’ll have to upgrade them later.

“Never know when someone might try to take over the world. Or kill you," Stark jokes. At least Q thinks he's joking.

“Right. Sorry about that. It slipped my mind. I swear it was completely unintentional.” Q reaches down to help untangle Stark. He’ll clean up the mess later. “The food survived right?” It smells amazing and Q can’t remember the last time he ate, so it better be okay. He does, however, remember his manners a second later. “You’re okay, right?”

“Would you be more distressed if I said, ‘no, yes’ or ‘yes, no’?”

“That had better be a ‘yes, yes’,” Q grumbles, offering Stark a hand. "I really am sorry about this. It's a good thing my biology chose someone hardy."

Stark takes it. The second he's upright, the suit falls off him, folding itself into a briefcase."Handsome, too." Q rolls his eyes, but can't disagree. Despite the near miss, not a single hair is out of place on Stark's head; he looks like he stepped out of magazine even despite the fact he's wearing casual clothes. Stark brushes off invisible dirt from his jeans. “I see where I rank. You’re lucky I’m a genius and set down the food before knocking.” Tony gestures at the plethora of take out boxes stacked to the other side of the entrance.

“Luckiest Omega in the world," Q says dryly, but his sarcasm is ruined by the tiny smile he can't keep off his face. He can't help it. It's because of the food, not Stark. "Come in. And uh, don’t touch anything that isn’t furniture. I’m going to go get dressed.” Q sleeps in only pajama pants, which means the name on his ribs is on full display for Tony to see. He’d have to be an oblivious idiot not to notice the way Stark is looking at him. Even without being able to scent the Alpha, Q can tell that Stark appreciates the view, scars aside. As he should.

Q strangles the thought. He doesn’t even have much to preen about, not when it comes to his body at least. He’s skinny, wiry if you’re being generous; nothing like Alec or James or even Stark. Pretty enough to look at, useless when it comes to heavy lifting.

“Why not?” Stark asks, carrying the food and briefcase in then immediately disregarding Q’s warning. He pokes at a dagger laying on the table, only to snatch his hand away a second later. “Ow, why didn’t you warn me that it’d shock me?”

“I told you not to touch anything,” Q shouts as he quickly pulls on shirt and cardigan.

“Is that a giant bunny plushie in the living room?” Tony asks as Q re-enters the dining room.

“It’s a long story.” Q opens a box and sees the most delicious looking muffin he has ever encountered.

“I think I got the same one for Pepper once. She hated it.”

“Well, it seems she and I have a lot in common then. Why so many boxes? Not that I’m complaining,” Q says, in-between bites. “It just seems a bit excessive.”

Stark rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Habit. Asgardians, Hulks, supersoldiers, and spies tend to get pretty hungry.”

“Not very fair of me to drag you away from them.”

Tony deflates a little, but shrugs as if it doesn’t bother him. “Doesn’t take long to fly over the ocean, especially not in the suit. If you really feel bad, help me and Bruce design a teleporter.” Q smiles. That’s a bit too much physics bending to be possible, even for Stark. “Besides, I can work anywhere and the Avengers can always visit. You have your MI6 business. Speaking of MI6, why is all of MI6’s tech so boring?”

“Excuse me?” Q knows better than to ask how Tony would know. He suspects it was Jarvis. Q wonders if there's a way to keep an AI with uncharted capabilities out of his systems. He starts drafting up ideas.

"...I mean it's all so unimaginative and plain," Tony finishes. "Wait, you're not the one who makes them right? I thought you were an executive."

Q viciously bites off half a mini burger. "Not all of us have billions in our budget. MI6 is a military organization, not a toy factory."

"So it is you! I knew it!” Stark grins triumphantly. “But I don't get it. The stories you told me from university, the changes you made to Nono - I still can’t believe you left her with Alec - you’re more than a...a palmprint sensor on a gun.”

“Less of a random killing machine, more of a personal statement,” Q grits. “And it’s coded to their biometrics, not their palmprint. Keeps my weapons from falling into the wrong hands.” Stark’s face shuts down, his expression as cold as Bond’s whenever someone puts a gun to his head. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.” Q pokes at the rest of his burger, appetite gone.

“‘Well, that escalated quickly,’” Tony quotes. “I was sort of asking for it, insulting your inventions. But seriously, you could obviously do so much more. Why don’t you?”

Because all creativity gets you is a B+ and shoved into a box that’s labeled “just another silly Omega” and silly Omegas don’t become Q, let alone M. Because the second an idea doesn’t work out they’ll brand you a failure, say you’re just like all other Omegas. Because everything you do is a reflection on every other Omega and if you mess up you’re messing it up for everyone else who comes after you and when you’re an underdog, every inch is a fight and it’s bloody hard to win when you’re handing the enemy the ammunition they need to shoot you, Q wants to yell. He doesn’t.

“University was a long time ago. As for Nono, you created her, supplied the creativity. At most, the modifications were clever. I’m not very imaginative,” is all he says. Imaginative and fanciful are what they expect him to be, so he makes sure to be practical, calculating. At least, he tries to be; he used to be. Then he let his emotions get the best of him, got attached. Typical.

“Bullshit.”

“What, were you expecting exploding pens? Invisibility cloaks? A Dalek? Just because I’m an Omega doesn’t mean I’m the creative type.”

“Wait wait wait.” Stark shakes his his head, holding up an index finger. “You’re telling me that the only reason MI6 doesn’t have a swarm of Daleks running around assassinating people across the world is because you’re a hipster?”

Q scoffs. “Do you know how much it would cost to make one Dalek? At minimum, you’re looking at 400,000 - euros, not dollars. Up that by at least another 150,000 if you want it to actually be useful and have an actual field of vision compared to the line they have in the series. Also, I am not a hipster. How is that even relevant?”

The billionaire pointedly gives Q’s v-neck cardigan a once over. “Aside from the glaringly obvious, you totally want to be seen as not creative because that’s too mainstream.”

Q grimaces, eyebrows raised high.

“It’s not that bad to be a hipster,” Tony comforts. “Well, yes it is, but-”

“I was wincing because you just used word ‘totally’ in your sentence like a stoned hippie from the 70s.”

“Hippies were from the 60s. And you’re still a hipster.”

“I am not a hipster. I’m just not as uninhibited as you are.”

Tony shrugs. “Of course. My mistake.” His frown indicates that he obviously doesn’t believe Q.

Q inwardly sighs. “So, biscuit?” Dating is harder than internet forums make it out to be. “Anyways, my ‘boring’ tech could take your suit out any day of the week.”

“I’m a betting man,” Tony warns. “If I win, you’re building me a Dalek, all the funds and tech you want.”

Q has no idea why Tony doesn’t just do it himself, but he isn’t going to complain. Getting to build a Dalek with unlimited resources and no drawback if it fails is any engineer’s dream come true. Too bad he’s not going to lose. “When I win, you have you to admit that MI6’s tech is more useful than yours, in addition to being more practical.”

“Today?”

“No time. I’ve got an ambassador to assassinate in two hours, which means I have to leave in a few minutes.”

“I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not.” Q is, of course. He would never reveal any actual data about MI6’s activities, however trivial. “Wait, does meeting each other to attempt to blow each other up count as a date?”

“Only if I kiss your boo-boos after I wipe the floor with you. Don't forget to bring some wine to drown your sorrows with.”

"Trying to get me drunk and steal my virtue?"

Q almost snorts, but Tony's comment actually isn't too far off base. "You wish. Thanks for brunch. Does Thursday work for you? I want to give you time to prepare your speech for when you lose."

Tony nods, a mischievous smirk - reminiscent of Alec's when he's about to disobey one of Q's orders - on his face. "I never write speeches, but I'll make sure to get a lot of 'boo-boos', boo."

If it was anyone but Stark, who said it with a silly wiggle of his eyebrows, Q would probably be disgusted. Instead, he's embarrassed on Tony's behalf. "Never call me that again," Q utters, shaking his head.

"Well it's not like David is your real name and I have nothing else to call you so..."

"Q. Just Q." It's not like Tony doesn't already know that he makes MI6's tech. It wouldn't take the genius but a minute to guess that Q is the Quartermaster if he bothered to. "But you're still calling me David whenever anyone else is around."

"You got it, Q-boo." Tony mock salutes him and makes a quick exit from Q's apartment before Q can correct, or strangle, him. Well, at least there's Thursday to look forward to.

 


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, beta'd by the wonderful TriumphantDisaster.  
> I can't believe this story has almost 450 kudos!!! Thanks so much for all the support and lovely comments :).

Q glances at a shop window under the pretense of checking his appearance. He smooths a few hairs - not that they won’t spring right back - while he surreptitiously checks his surroundings. He has done more preening in front of shop windows the past two days than he has in front of the bathroom mirror over the span of his entire life. Ever since his brunch with Stark, Q has been getting the feeling that someone is constantly watching him. He hasn’t caught a scent yet, but he’s bound to soon. Well, if he doesn’t get assassinated first.

Of course, the smart thing to do would be to hide inside, but he is _Q_. He does not hide; he seeks.

Only, he hasn’t actually managed to get a glimpse. Whoever it is, he or she is either watching from afar or is extremely good at disguises. Q is willing to bet it’s the former. Whenever Q ducks into the subway the prickling sensation of being stared at disappears; however, Q has used satellites to search any rooftops that would give his stalker visual on him and came up empty on that front as well. He’s almost starting to doubt his instincts. Or maybe it’s Stark that’s being stalked and Q is feeling it through the bond? Except Stark is still on the bond suppressants. Then again, those could be failing.

He could call Stark to ask, but there’s no way that conversation could end well.

Q imagines it going something like, “Hey, are you being stalked? No? Why do I ask? No reason. Bye.” That would invariably lead to Stark doing something to ‘protect’ Q, who in no way, shape, or form, needs any protection. He can take care of one stalker by himself, thank you very much.

Q heads home, careful to stick to populated roads for most of the journey. Honestly, the worst part about this whole business is that means taking longer routes home, looping around to lose or his follower, and by the time he gets home he is exhausted, limbs feeling like lead bricks. At least James is on a mission. If he were here, he’d be hovering over Q to no end.

As Q is closing the door, his phone buzzes. Alec.

“Way to never call,” Alec complains the second Q accepts the call.

“I’ve been busy.” Preoccupied by this whole stalker business. “Stark said my tech is boring so I challenged him. My tech versus his suit.”

Alec whistles low. “Everything is a fight with you, isn’t it? He knows you’re Q, then?”

“Yes.”

“You’re slipping,” Alec cautions. Q can’t even be offended because it’s true. “Try to remember at the end of the day you’re trying to become fuck buddies with him, not kill him. Q, you need him.” There’s a loud crash on Alec’s end.

“Is everything okay?”

“Uhhh, Banner doesn’t look too good,” Alec explains. “I gotta go. Call me back after Thursday?” He hangs up before Q has a chance to reply.

Huh. From Bruce’s speech, Q had been under the impression that Banner and the Hulk were peacefully coexisting. Q makes his way to his bedroom, turns the telly to an American news channel, and raises the volume so he can hear it while he brushes his teeth.

_“Just a few hours ago in Central Park, people gathered to protest the new bill that Steve Rogers, better known as Captain America, is trying to push through Congress. This bill, if passed, would call for the legal recognition of Betas, and would be the precedent needed to both establish and enforce hate crime laws. However, it’s scientifically proven that, biologically, one is either an Alpha or an Omega. There is no inbetween.”_

Except there are, Q thinks bitterly, brushing so hard he draws blood. They’re just labeled defects, disabled, victims of a few alleles gone wrong. They’re just ignored. (Q had read up on Betas after Alec popped into his life. And then he may have hacked into hospital records just to make sure the literature wasn’t all lies. Hint: about half of it was. Maybe not lies, per se, but heavily tinted and twisted.)

_“Omegas who proclaim themselves to be Betas are usually butch, while Alphas who do the same tend to be meek. One of the classical arguments for the existence of Betas is Omegas who don’t have a soul mark; however, there are dozens of better explanations for this deficiency. Currently, the word “Beta” does not exist in most dictionaries, though it is widely used as an insult. Urbandictionary, a dictionary whose definitions are created by users, defines a Beta to be someone who is soulless, mentally unstable, or unworthy of having a soulmate.  Only one country in the world legally acknowledges the existence of Betas, who are people who claim to be neither Alpha nor Omega: Australia.”_

Q rinses his face, then plops onto his bed, shucking off his clothes. He grabs the blanket James had given him and snuggles under the covers on his usual side, eyelids already drooping. His husband’s scent covers the blanket, lingers on the pillow beside him. Once James gets back Q will have to get the agent’s signature for their divorce papers.

_“While this peaceful demonstration was in its second hour, Doombots flooded the park and began attacking them. Luckily, Spiderman arrived within minutes and a few minutes later, the Avengers - sans Stark - were on the scene as well. This is the first time we’ve seen the Avengers work with Spiderman and it’s probably the last. In a terrifying turn of events, the Hulk turned on Spiderman halfway through the fight and heaved Spiderman far away. Spiderman did not return to the fight after that and his whereabouts are currently unknown. Everyone feared for the worst, but the Hulk resumed smashing Doombots instead of citizens and nobody, aside from maybe Spiderman, was seriously injured.”_

Q wouldn’t believe it if not for the fact that footage is playing right in front of him. Bruce must’ve had a good reason. Maybe Spiderman was injured and Bruce needed to get him away as quickly as possible or...

_“Are the Avengers falling apart? The Hulk was seen disobeying Captain America’s commands today and attacking a fellow hero. How much longer until this monster attacks a civilian? If Captain America was an Alpha, we could trust him to keep the Hulk in line, but now…_

_What do you think, Greg?”_

No wonder Banner isn’t looking good. First the picketers, then the Doombots and Spiderman, now the news blaming Captain America’s orientation for the whole mess. Do they not realize that Captain America has been a Beta the whole entire time and the whole team knew? Do they not think that somehow, the fact that Cap told the news media suddenly triggered something in the Hulk? Americans.

Not that the British are much better, admittedly, if at all.

_“Well, Rachel, first I’d like to point out how conveniently everything fell together. Doombots attacked Captain America’s opposition, the Avengers saved the day after removing the other superhero that showed up out of the picture, and nobody really got hurt. At most, Central Park is missing a few trees.”_

_“Are you implying that the Avengers worked with Doom?”_

_“I’m implying that it’s possible. They’ve deceived us in the past and they do work for the largest intelligence organization in the world. There’s no way Captain America would ever be able to get this bill passed, not without doing something drastic. Heck, Stark has better chances of repealing the Omega Education Safety Act, which would not only be pointless, but potentially dangerous as well. No Omegas want to take engineering, and it’d be incredibly risky for them to be in those sorts of environments, anyway._

_If you look at the numbers, the Beta Equality Bill is equally pointless. It wouldn’t really even be protecting anyone. It’d just be another tool in lawyers’ arsenals. Only 1% of the population proclaims themselves to be Beta, and that’s rounding up. If you look at that population, about 41% of them have attempted suicide, and 16% them "work" selling drugs or prostituting themselves. Why? Because they can’t hold onto a job. They experience 2 to 4 times the unemployment rate of the general populace. Obviously this portion of the population is mentally unstable and generally a menace. Which, explains why 57% of them, if not more, are rejected by their families. Oh, let’s not forget, most of them, 86% in fact, never get married because, guess what? They don’t have soul mates. And they’re insane. Who would want to marry them?”_

Q makes a mental note to crash Fox New’s website. Or maybe replace all their content with cupcakes. That’s what he did to al-Queda and people seemed to find that amusing. Then again, he’d rather not give Fox any free publicity of the cupcake sort. Maybe he’ll replace everything with actual, intelligent articles. This reporter too. Replace him with someone smart; that’s a good idea. Q reaches for his laptop - corner of the bed, right next to his pillow - but can’t find the energy to open his eyes. But he has to...

_The lady chuckles weakly. “Greg, I don’t think that’s a politically correct term.”_

_Greg continues on. “This bill doesn’t make sense because it wants equality when these people, these things, obviously aren’t our equals. They...”_

Q falls asleep with Greg’s monotonous spiel of bullshit statistics still going strong, one arm curled around James’ blanket, the other reaching for his laptop, fingers twitching as he doles out justice in his dreams.

When he comes back to consciousness, his head is pounding and he can't see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the statistics were taken from http://www.transequality.org/PDFs/NTDS_Report.pdf  
> Others I just made up/twisted a little (because that’s what the news does, eh?)


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always beta'd by the wonderful TriumphantDisaster. Sorry this took a while to get posted up. Thanks as always for the support and I'd love to hear from you :).

A rush of panic sweeps through him, so violent and swift that he’s left trembling and struggling to breathe in its wake. He’s blind. His vision has slowly been worsening over the years and the doctors warned him that he might go blind if he didn’t stop taking his suppressants sooner or later, but he’d never thought…

Q takes a deep, stuttered breath. It might just be a blackout and it’s still dark out and his generator has failed and his phone’s light has suddenly broken. No use rushing to conclusions. Q reaches for his lamp to switch it on, only to promptly realize that he can’t move his hands. They’re tied in front of him. His feet are tied together as well.

Kidnapped - by the bloody hells he hates that word - and blindfolded then. Not blind. Whether or not that’s for better or worse is yet to be seen. Q sniffs the air, hoping for some sort of hint, but the only scents he can catch are his own and James’. He’s on a bed, naked save his boxer-briefs, James’ blanket draped over him. His captor will probably threaten to shred it, burn it, defile it, or something of the sort if Q isn’t complacent. It’s reassuring. That, along with the fact that the rope is soft enough that it won’t leave marks despite how tight it’s tied, means his captor isn’t about to torture him. Probably.

Q wonders how his captor got past his security system. He wonders how long it will take for MI6 to rescue him this time or if he should attempt another escape, for all that got him last time.

“I’ve never seen anyone stare at themselves as much as you do,” a male voice, American accent, says from his left. There’s the quietest whisper of fabric as his captor moves, but no sound of footsteps. Most likely a professional, then.

“Who are you? Are you going to hurt me?” Q infuses some fear into his voice. Act afraid. Act innocent. Perpetuate the stereotype that Omegas are weak, easily intimidated, prone to hysterics…

Q tries to gauge the thickness of the blindfold; if he cries, will he gain sympathy? He subtly tests the strength of knots binding his hands to find that he can’t move any of his fingers, let alone his hands, at all; right, probably not then.

“Depends on how you answer my questions,” his captor answers. Q rolls his eyes behind the blindfold. Of course. “Are you really Stark’s soul mate? It seems a bit of a coincidence, doesn’t it? That an employee of MI6 is bonded to Stark and suddenly decides to show up when it’s convenient to saving an agents life? Last time I heard, MI6 didn’t even employ Omegas.” There’s something about the wording of the last sentence that niggles at Q, but he doesn’t have time to analyze it.

“I’m a secretary.” Of a sort.

“Because secretaries have military grade security systems.”

“I - my husband. He’s always worried for me. I got kidnapped once because of his work. They cut up my soul mark and -” Q breaks off. Lies are best when they’re forged from truth, but some truths he’d rather keep to himself. “James made MI6 hire me as a secretary so he’d know that I’m safe all the time. They don’t actually let me do anything.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Sorry, what was the question again?” Q asks timidly, bottom lip quivering.

“Why marry James Bond and put your life in danger, when your soul mate is the richest and smartest man alive?” The kidnapper seems hung up on Q’s relation to Stark and complimentary towards the billionaire. There’s not a hint of animosity in his praise. A friend of Stark? Maybe a SHIELD agent? Both, most likely. That confirms Q’s theory that he’s not in danger and narrows down the list of suspects to about two people. And his kidnapper sure as hell isn’t Captain Rogers.

Chances are Tony has no idea about this - Stark doesn’t seem to be the type to hire or ask other people to do his dirty work, at least not in this regard. After all, the man flies into danger instead of controlling his suit with a remote or building an AI - which means Q’s kidnapper won’t hurt him, for fear of Tony finding out. That’s one less worry. Now, what to say?

“I’m not very good at being an Omega.” Truth. “I’m afraid of Alphas.” Lie. Truth? Lie. Liar. “I never wanted to meet Tony.” Truth. “I married James because I knew he would never have sex with me.” A half-lie and a truth.

“You’re one screwed up kid, aren’t you?” The kidnapper snorts. “So why are you getting friendly with Stark now?”

“I made a deal with him?” Q asks, as if it’s obvious.

“One that you didn’t have to honor. You want something. What is it?”

Q weighs the pros and cons of lying for moment. He inhales deeply, giving himself an extra second to change his mind. “I have to get off suppressants.”

“There are clinics for that everywhere.”

“I’m scared of those too.” More like they’d be a security nightmare, but Q isn’t admitting that.

“Stop pretending to be an idiot and this will go a lot faster. You shouldn’t try to play people; it’s not very nice.”

“It’s not very nice to kidnap people,” Q quips back, dropping the facade. He sits up on the bed, staring in the direction he thinks his captor is in. “Speaking of which, could you untie me or at least take the blindfold off? I doubt I could escape anyways and it’d be far more comfortable for the both of us. Plus, with the blindfold off you could read me better.”

His kidnapper half chuckles, half snorts. “Don’t need to. You’re a shitty liar.”

Q scoffs. “You’re a shitty person,” he banters back out of habit.

“Because I’m a spy? What’s your husband than?”

“A shitty person. Why do you think I’m divorcing him?” Embarrassingly, his voice cracks. It seems it’s still too early for him to make jokes about his own divorce.

“Ugh, I’ll return you home in time for you to take your next dose of little white pills. Just don’t cry,” the man complains. Suddenly, everything clicks together in Q’s mind.

“Do I look like I’m going to cry?” He drawls sarcastically.

“To be honest? Yeah.”

Q shrugs. “If you say so, _Hawkeye_. Or do you prefer Clint Barton?” No response. He’s right then. “So, are you going to untie my feet or are you going to carry me out of here?”

Clint sighs, undoing the blindfold now that it’s pointless. “You still haven’t answered the question truthfully.”

Q blinks, his eyes slowly adjusting to the light. Thankfully, the room isn’t very bright. He’s in a hotel room. A nice one at that. That, or he just can’t see the dirt without his glasses on. “What will you do if I don’t answer it?”

“Tony invited me to come visit London.” Barton shrugs casually as if he isn’t implying he could make a mess of Q’s life.

Q looks the sharpshooter in the eyes. “I want to stop being a screw up.”

“You’re not scared of Alphas. You resent them. Tony’s not exactly known for inspiring warm, fuzzy feelings.”

“You’re an Omega and seem to like him fine.”

Clint gets a pinched expression on his face. “What gave it away?”

“The little things.” Q smiles humorlessly. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Barton looks suspicious, but it’s not like he has much of a choice but to trust Q, unless he kills him. “Omegas suck just as much as Alphas do,” Barton imparts as he absentmindedly starts twirling a knife that’d been strapped to his thigh. He’s standing close enough to Q that Q can feel the rushes of wind as the blade somersaults through the air. “People suck in general. Tony’s good though. At least when you’re not fighting him or his friends.” The spy quirks an eyebrow, giving Q a knowing look.

Q breaks eye contact.

“Look, I know you want to prove yourself. It’s a stupid biology thing that I can’t explain to you, but I can tell you that you’re not going about it the right way.”

“You have any suggestions?” Q asks sullenly.

“Jumping off buildings isn’t much better,” Barton jokes. Q smiles despite himself. He has watched footage of Barton jumping off of numerous buildings in order to get the perfect shot, disregardful of his own safety. There’s a lot of it, though less and less as time has gone on. Q had always figured it was a macho Alpha thing. Barton must read his mind because he laughs. “But seriously kid, there are better ways and worse people to fight.”

“I’m not a kid,” Q begins to protest. Then he pauses, plots forming in his mind. Q grins conspiratorially at Barton, who gives him a shark-like smirk in return, eyes bright with thoughts of mischief.

“Your coworkers are gems,” Barton drawls suggestively.

“That they are. One in particular. The one with brown hair-”

“The douchesmirk,” Clint nods knowingly. It’s the best description of R that Q has ever heard. “He watches you a lot, you know?”

Q grimaces. “I know, but before that there’s some reporters at Fox News.”

Clint rolls his eyes and Q is about to...well, take offense because there’s not much he can do here, when Clint sheaths his knife and dangles a newspaper in front of Q. “Tony beat you to it.”

“Only because you kidnapped me,” Q accuses, scanning the article and ignoring Clint’s hum of false agreement. Tony bought Fox News and replaced almost everyone in one night. Q didn’t even know that was legally possible. “But seriously, untie me.”

Clint deftly unties Q’s hands, but leaves the boffin to fend for himself when it comes to the rope around his ankles. For some reason there are about twenty knots. Q growls, making grabby hands for the knife strapped to Clint’s thigh. Clint hops away from the bed, out of reach. Q glares at the fellow Omega, promising revenge.

“While I have a captive audience for a little-” Clint laughs, watching Q struggle. “A lot longer, I have an idea for douchesmirk. Every day he goes to the Starbucks across the street from MI6 and flirts with the black haired barista…”


	38. Chapter 38

“0013, if you would please just turn the knob, you’ll find that I’ve opened the door for you and there is no need to destroy it. We’ve already had to replace five doors this week and the staff is getting a bit exasperated,” a posh British voice rings out as 0013 takes out her laser. “You could even use the front entrance if you wish. You’ll find it 162 meters to your right.”

0013 briefly wonders if it’s a trap, but turns the knob nonetheless. It’s not as if Stark could off an MI6 agent without causing an international incident. Of course, the opposite is also true. But that’s what alibis are for.

“If you wish to drop off a menacing note, take the elevator to the the 42nd floor and attach it to the coffee maker. I’m afraid that’s the only way Mr. Stark would ever notice it,” the voice sighs with fond exasperation. “If you wish to threaten him in person you can find him in his workshop on the 57th floor.”

She reaches to push for the 57th floor, but before she can hit the button it lights up and the lift is ascending. When it stops and the doors open, she’s treated to a blast of blaring music. Classic rock or something of the sort, she thinks. An explosion could go off and you wouldn’t even hear it.

The sole inhabitant of the floor - which is indeed a giant workshop - turns to look at her, giving her a flippant once over before returning to whatever he’s tinkering with. Boffins: they’re either mice or honey badgers, never in-between.

Stark waves a hand in the air and the music stops. “There’s a line, you know,” he says breezily, back turned towards her.

“A line for what?”

“People who will torture or kill me if I harm Q. You bunch are way too overprotective. He can take care of himself.”

That explains the five replacement doors. 007, before he took off for his mission, is probably the first in that line. As for the other four who got here before her...well, that’s a bit of a toss up, but it doesn’t matter, seeing as James wouldn’t leave a single scrap. “He likes to think that, yes.”

Stark turns to face her, a smarmy smirk on his face. “So, how much trouble would you be in if he ever found out about this?”

\-------

Q makes a mental note to lecture his agents as he waits for 0013 to leave. Planning the rant helps to distract himself from Clint’s hushed, running commentary that threatens to have him bursting out laughing and giving his presence away.

Finally, 0013 leaves, but only after painting a rather graphic description of the things she could do to Tony’s genitals if the Alpha “hurts Q”. Stark sighs heavily the moment the Double-O is out the door. “Jarvis, how many agents are there in the Double-O program?” He huffs, slumping into his chair. A second later, Dummy is by his side, handing him a drink that looks a poisonous shade of purple.

“At least you didn’t get kidnapped,” Q points out, sliding out of the ceiling vent he’d been spying from, sticking the landing despite wobbling a little. Stark gawps at him as he brushes the dust off his face. He doesn’t even try to salvage his clothing. How the vents of a brand new building could be so disgustingly dusty, he doesn’t even know.

“Hey!” Clint sputters, landing next to Q. “I thought that was going to be our secret.”

“Sorry,” Q apologizes innocently. “I didn’t realize it was supposed to be. My head’s still a little fuzzy from whatever drugs you gave me.”

“Are you okay?” Tony asks, briskly walking up to Q, concern written all over his face. He doesn’t invade Q’s personal space, but hovers around him, examining him from all side. Q can practically hear him chirping like a mother hen. He knows for a fact that JARVIS is scanning his vitals. “It must be bad if you’re skipping work…” The Alpha pauses in his examination to glare at Clint.

Q shakes his head. “It’s fine and I am not skipping work. I was put on medical leave.” Tony’s agitation escalates. Oh, that didn’t come out right. Q pats Tony on the shoulder reassuringly. “Not because I’m actually hurt. They put me on medical leave so that I wouldn’t have to actually be put on medical leave. Er, ask Clint. It’s his fault really.” Tony seems to take Q’s pat as permission to gently poke and prod him to check for injuries. Q would bat his mate’s hands away, but it’s not too much of a hardship to endure the light touches and it seems to help Stark calm down.

“Only a quarter,” Clint protests. “I just made the suggestion. Q did the logistics and 50% of the work.”

“What are you talking about?” Tony asks, giving Q one last once over before he seems to be satisfied that Q isn’t about to fall dead on his floor. He then whirls to glare at Clint, a frown - a better impression of Grumpy Cat than even Nono can make - on his face.

“We messed with one of Q’s coworkers.”

Tony’s expression becomes even more sinister. “Messed with as in…” Tony makes a few strange hand gestures that Q guesses to mean “have sex with” purely because of the context and not because the gestures make any sense.

Clint immediately backpedals. “No. And please never do that again. We pranked him and he got really pissed off, which is putting it mildly. He deserved it though. He stares at Q like a total creeper.”

Tony brightens immediately. He genially claps Clint on the back. “What’d you guys do? Is there footage?” Clint is opening his mouth to say yes, but Tony cuts him off. “Jarvis, find footage and play it.”

“Yes, sir,” Jarvis replies. A minute later a video materializes in the air in front of them.

On screen, Q is leaning over the coffee counter, whispering conspiratorially into the single barista’s ear. After a brief minute of conversation, which Jarvis helpfully captions - how, Q has no idea because there’s no audio feed and no cameras that could see his lips - she lets Q grab all the napkin dispensers in the store, and hide behind the counter. Jarvis fast forwards to when R walks in a few minutes later.

Q smiles, and out of the corner of his eyes, watches for Tony’s reaction.

_The barista hands R his coffee as if everything is normal and R goes to top it off with some cream and sugar. The second his fingers touch the creamer, it topples over, spilling all over R._

Tony blinks, then his eyebrows scrunch for not even a second as he figures out what happened.

“That reminds me, I’m going to need some more soft-tip disintegrating camo arrows,” Clint informs Tony. Tony’s eyes flicker for a second and Q watches as he figures out the prank: realization comes in the form of a full-out smile.

Q turns his attention back to the video.

_R rights the creamer, but in doing so “knocks over” his coffee with his elbow. Since the lid is off, the hot drink - which Q had requested the barista make extra hot but not hot enough to cause second degree burns - splashes on R as it falls. R curses and reaches for a napkin or ten._

Q surreptitiously casts another glance at Tony. The genius has a hand up in front of his mouth, covering his grin.

_R scans the whole cafe, searching for a napkin. Once he realizes there are none, he makes his way to the counter...where Clint is rattling off a huge, complicated order. The barista is pretending to be on the phone and holds up a hand to tell them to wait a moment. After a minute, she hangs up then smiles up brightly at Clint. She apologizes and asks him to repeat his order please._

_R tries to butt in to ask for a napkin, but Clint cuts him off every time. The barista takes Clint’s cash and sets off to make his order, taking her time and drawing, at Clint’s request, a French girl in the foam. When she’s finally finished with Clint’s order, she looks up at R, who at this point looks like he’d like to murder someone._

_She apologizes to R as she hands Clint his drink and brightly asks how she can help him. She makes an excuse as to why there are no napkins and apologizes again. She offers R another drink as it’s the least she could do._

Q watches Tony the whole time the video plays. The man’s face is easier to read than a book. At least it is right now - probably not so much when he’s in front of the media. Q is willing to bet that the billionaire doesn’t have a poker face, not that he needs one seeing as he’s a billionaire. Q can tell just from watching the shifts in Tony’s expression what part of the video they’re at.

Two more spilled coffees, a screaming match when Clint slips on the mess R created, and the barista’s faked emotional breakdown later, Tony turns his head. Q immediately fixes his attention on the video, hoping Tony didn’t notice, pretending he doesn’t know that Tony is looking at him.

_The cafe’s manager chews R out, R yelling back the whole time, before finally banning him from the store._

Q doesn’t dare look away from the screen even as the video starts winding down. He isn’t sure if Tony is still watching him. Q thinks Tony turned away a minute ago, but he’s not sure and he’s not risking it.

_Clint trips R on the way out, accidentally cutting a hole in the back of R’s pants at the same time._

Tony scoffs. Q frowns. “Way to be subtle, Clint,” Tony drawls. Oh. Not disapproving then. Q turns to look at the Alpha without thinking about it, wanting to see his expression.

Tony is staring at him.

“Well, I’m just going to go now. Bye,” Clint says rapidly, jumping onto a table and back into the vent, closing the cover behind him. Dummy makes a whirring noise. Q isn’t sure if it’s a noise of encouragement or if the little robot is just saying goodbye to Clint.

Tony beams at him, completely ignoring how awkward the situation should be. “Come on, I’ll show you what I was working on.” He tugs at Q’s sleeve, leaving no room for protest. “Also, want to see the specs for the arrows Clint used? No making them for MI6, though. Trade secret.”

“No one at MI6 uses bows,” Q assures.

“Pft, as if you couldn’t modify them to suit your needs. Anyways, how’d you know your agent was here?” Tony hands him a pair of sunglasses.

Q studies the circuitry of the glasses for a minute before turning to the screen that displays its programming. SIV: Stark Industries Vision. They’re a bit like Google Glasses, in the fact that they’re tech combined with eyewear, but the similarities end there. SIVs, as far as Q can see, are going to be far more durable, not to mention more useful. They’ll automatically adjust tint according to sunlight and the user’s preferences, as well as provide vision correction. In order to lengthen battery life, they'll have tiny solar panels.

“I couldn’t,” Q says truthfully. “Once again, funds are a thing. I imagine that those arrows aren’t cheap.” The blueprints pop up to his left and Q eyes the numbers. Definitely out of Q branch’s budget.

“Nope, but worth every cent to see the look on that guy’s face. The wasted coffee however...” Tony makes an expression like he's just tasted something terrible.

“It was decaf, if that makes you feel better. Have Jarvis upload the best bits to YouTube or a Vine or something, if he’d be okay with that?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Jarvis says. “I’ll remove any footage of you and make sure to disguise Clint’s features.”

“Thanks Jarvis.”

“You never answered my question,” Tony points out. Then his eyes flicker and Q knows that he’s figured out that Q, in fact, did not come here to track down an errant agent. “Oh well.”

Q is surprised that Tony just dropped the topic just like that. Not that he’s going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’s glad he doesn’t have to explain to Tony that M had, with no small amount of exasperation, told him to go somewhere safe for the day while R calmed down - R had stormed into Q branch, ready to take not only names, but lives as well - and his own home was obviously unsafe at the moment, as proven by Clint.

Tony continues, “So, since you got kidnapped, we should call the bet off and just spend the day building a Dalek anyways. And, as an apology for Clint being an idiot, I won’t call you Q-boo anymore. Q-tiepie suits you much better anyways.”

“Stark,” Q warns. “To answer your one of your earlier question, there are sixteen Double-O agents and none of them are as potentially deadly as me.”

“Q-tiepatootie then?”

“David,” Q corrects, quickly becoming annoyed.

Tony _pouts_. Of all things, the Alpha _pouts._ “Fine.” He looks so dejected that Q feels a little guilty. Q closes his eyes, remembering what Alec and Clint had said. When he opens them, he has made his decision. It’s purely logic-based; reward good behavior and it’ll continue. 

Q takes a deep breath then pecks Tony on the cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy fic anniversary! CELEBRATED WITH Q KISSING TONY. It only took ~70k words and one year. Thanks for sticking with me on this wonderful adventure! :D. And extra thanks to my wonderful beta, TriumphantDisaster.
> 
> Anyways, KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE. 
> 
> (Sorry not sorry. I'm super excited about the fact that they kissed. Sort of kissed.)
> 
> In all seriousness though, writing this fic has been a huge adventure for me and you guys have made it great and it never would've gotten this far without your support :). Apologies for my janky, non-existent uploading schedule. Although, I will have a chapter up in exactly a week in celebration of one-year-since-I-shot-Steve-in-this-fic :)!


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Except Q actually doesn’t kiss Stark at all. Instead, he pauses just an inch away from Tony and whispers, “Did you really think I’d want to kiss you? Oh Tony, if only you had a soul mate who actually cared about you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you really think they’d actually kiss? HA.

Except Tony turns his head.

Subsequently, Q ends up butting the Alpha in the jaw with his nose. Q immediately takes a step back, feeling his cheeks turn red, as if he isn’t already embarrassed enough without blushing liking a fool. Q covers his face with a hand under the guise of cradling his injured nose. Tony is staring at him with wide eyes.

“Wait, no. I take that turn back,” Tony says, which makes no sense. Q narrows his eyes, not sure what kind of game Stark is playing. “I didn’t know you were going to do that. I turned because a data screen popped up.”

Before Q can reply, Tony has bridged the gap between them, moved Q’s hand, and is pressing his lips against Q; and before Q can respond, can figure out how to respond, Tony pulls back. Q startles backwards, hitting the counter.

He pulls his hand out of Tony’s loose hold, putting it in front of his lips just in case Tony tries to pull another fast one. The Alpha is all of two inches away and staring at him with an expression that Q can’t read. What Q wouldn’t give to be able to scent the man to figure out what he’s thinking.

“I wasn’t going to kiss you on the _lips_!” Q sputters. His lips still tingle. He can still feel the warmth of Tony's hand on his.

“Oh,” Tony says tonelessly, in contrast to the smile that forms on his lips. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to Q’s forehead. Just for a second, like the earlier kiss, and just as gentle. This time though, he lingers a hair’s breadth away before straightening again.

"Oh," Q echoes, feeling off-kilter and defenseless against Tony's sincere, hesitant affection. 

"Better?" Tony asks, with a cheeky grin.

“Normally people apologize, not go in for another kiss,” Q chastises. Tony frowns, looking crestfallen. Q inwardly sighs and resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Fine. It was fine.”

The Alpha immediately bursts into a grin and Q realizes that he’s been played. God, Tony’s even worse than a Double-O. And twice as likely to get himself killed. That reminds him-

Tony waggles his eyebrows. “Really? Only fine? Because I’m told - by a plethora of people - that I’m great. Amazing, even. Mindblowing. There are videos on YouTube to prove it.”

“Not in the ones I’ve seen,” Q chirps. He actually hasn’t watched any of them because he had no desire to see the Alpha naked, but maybe he should. For research purposes. “By the way, when we bond you’re letting me fix your armor.”

“ _When?_ What makes you think I’m a sure thing? Maybe I’ve changed my mind now that I’ve seen how cruel you are. Besides, there’s nothing to fix. Improvements and modifications? Yes. Fix? No.”

“I’m kind of a sure thing.”

“Are you saying that because you’re a sure thing, I’m a sure thing? I could resist your charms if I wanted to. I have great self control.” As the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist says that, he grabs a pre-packaged muffin out of a random drawer.

“You tried to _snuggle up to me_ while we were sparring.” Q might still be a little bitter about that. He pulls up a hologram window and opens up the blueprint he’d e-mailed himself. He’d been planning on using the actual model this afternoon, but since plans changed he doesn’t have need for it. Turning the window towards Stark, he brings up a new one to start working on the Dalek.

“I don’t get it,” Tony says around a mouthful of muffin. “The suit is protected against EMPs even if they’re applied directly and this bullet would bounce right off. Muffin? It’s blueberry.”

Q shakes his head. “The reason bullets bounce right off the suit is because the force gets diffused. As for direct EMPs, well, I’m not sure exactly what your suit does in that situation because I haven’t seen the blueprints, although I have a few guesses. Anyways, I’m mostly sure that if you combine the two -”

“The EMP activates the millisecond the bullet hits, before it’s reflected off - I see.” Tony opens a few random drawers, searching for something, before pulling out a box of cinnamon buns. “Cinnamon bun?” Q takes a proffered bun, hoping it isn’t expired. “Although, I’m not sure if the EMP would be powerful enough to take the suit out, seeing as there’s not much room in a bullet. Jarvis, can you run a simulation?”

A video feed pops up, showing a beautifully rendered 3D model of Iron Man getting shot at. As Q had thought, one bullet doesn’t do much, but after several the suit starts faltering in its flight. The suit manages to take out a handful of simulated shooters before crashing to the floor.

“I’m a better shot than that,” Tony complains, protesting that the Iron Man in the simulation had missed several shots. As if those few shots would've actually changed the outcome.

“Jarvis?” Q asks skeptically.

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” the AI replies, tone completely neutral. “However, I can provide aim correction should you ever need it.”

“Thanks Jarvis, but I think I’m good,” Q says over Tony’s protestations that Jarvis is a traitor. “Don’t worry Tony, I can teach you how to shoot,” Q offers. “Not that I’ve ever shot a gun, of course. With laws the way they are.” Despite his even tone, they both know it’s a lie.

To Q’s surprise, the genius smiles. “Sounds good. Dalek, then shooting range. We can shoot at the Dalek!”

“Then you fix your suit so you don’t get the both of us killed.”

“Aw, you care.”

Q flashes Tony a smile, showing off his sharp canines, hoping there aren’t bits of cinnamon bun in his teeth. That would diminish the effect. “You’d do well to remember that a finger could slip while I’m coding the Dalek.”

“But then you’d lose your sure thing.”

Q falters mid chew, his brain abandoning everything in favor of fixating on what Tony had said. “Mine,” He says, half-question, half-caution, mouth still full of partly chewed food and manners forgotten. He might be gawping.

“Yeah?” Tony asks quizzically. “I’m kind of a sure thing too. No one has ever accused me of not being easy. At least not in that sense.”

His. Not the other way around. Just like that. There’s no way things could be so easy. Q has had to fight for every single thing he can call his: his degree, his job, every single scrap of grudging acknowledgment his coworkers have for him, his freedom. “You wouldn’t try to control me.” He sounds surer than he feels.

“Huh? Seriously? That’s what you’re worried about? In case you haven’t noticed, I handed my company over to Pep and Cap is the Captain; I’m more a fan of breaking orders than giving them.” The Alpha, _his_ Alpha, says as if it should be obvious.

“But you’d want to…” Q searches for the right word. He presses a hand to his ribs, where the letters marking him as Tony’s lay. Tony’s eyes track the motion. “Belong to me? Why?” Why would anyone ever want to  belong to someone else, to be someone’s property?

Q remembers the panic he’d felt the first time he’d seen the letters on his skin. Objectively, he had always known that he would turn out to be an Omega, but knowing was different from waking up one day with a brand on his skin, a shackle in the form of a signature. “I can’t belong to you,” Q blurts out, heart trying to escape his chest, escape free, at the thought. “Not now and not-”

Tony cuts him off. “I don’t want you to. It’s not about belonging to each other. People don’t belong to people. It’s about...I’m yours, but you’re also mine because we’re with each other...It’s about belonging together.”

“But,” Q protests, glancing down at his hand.

“If you want, I could get your name tattooed somewhere when we bond.” Q opens his mouth to point out that that’s insane, but Tony holds up a hand. “I’m serious. I don’t care what anyone might think. Just, give me your real name if we do that. I don’t want to belong to MI6.” Tony blanches at the thought.

“You’re serious.”

“Unusually so.”

“In which case, I lied,” Q admits. Before Tony can freak out too much, he steps forward and kisses his Alpha. “It was deplorable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The summary and beginning notes have no actual bearing on the story. Feel free to yell at me and call me an asshole. 
> 
> Anyways! The End. Happily ever after. Just kidding. It almost was - as a birthday gift to myself - but then I remembered that a few chapters ago I’d told a commenter that it’d be at least 10 more chapters. *facepalms* springbok7 this is all your fault. I hope you enjoy your extra chapters.
> 
> As always, many thanks to TriumphantDisaster for beta’ing, putting up with my whinging, and convincing me to not go through with Q pulling a Hans.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, much thanks to TriumphantDisaster. Sorry this chapter took so long.

It takes an awkward second for Tony to respond. It’s a proper kiss, no shenanigans on Tony’s part. Tony’s hands come up to loosely cradle the back of Q’s head. It’s nice enough. Q hasn’t kissed many people, but he’s kissed James and Alec - who he probably shouldn’t be thinking of when he’s kissing his mate - and they’ve both seduced and slept with many a beautiful person, so he thinks he’s qualified to judge. That’s it though. It’s just nice. Sweet. No fireworks, nothing swoon worthy, nothing like what everyone claims a kiss with a soul mate should be like. If anything, there’s a niggling sense of wrongness. Maybe it’s because of the bond suppressants?

Q ends the kiss and Tony’s hands fall away, twirling a lock of hair at the base of Q’s neck as they withdraw. Stark is smiling. Q tries to smile back, but he’s not sure if he succeeds.

“You don’t have to get a tattoo,” Q says for lack of a better way to transition away from wherever Tony might’ve thought the kiss would lead. If the Alpha is disappointed by the abrupt segue, it doesn’t show. Q knows that the whole point of this is for things to go in that direction - what kisses lead up to - but at the moment he can’t even think about that without remembering the poor Alpha girl he’d picked off the streets or being bitter about the way James would flinch and pull away every time Q made his interest a little too clear. 

“Ya?” Tony hums, still smiling. “That’s actually kind of a relief. The Avengers don’t need any more press for a while. I wouldn’t want to bump Cap off the front pages.”

“You wouldn’t,” Q assures, brushing away irrelevant thoughts. He doesn’t need to think about that for a while yet. Hopefully. “He's much more photogenic than you. Makes for a better front page photo.”

“Excuse you, he was never voted sexist bachelor of the year for five years in a row by TIME magazine or managed to woo all thirteen playboy bunnies January-December.”

“Has he even been out of the ice for five years?” Q taps out a quick web search. Lo and behold, Rogers has only been voted sexiest Alpha of the year for four years in a row. It must hurt an Alpha’s ego, losing only to the supposed pinnacle of human perfection. It must hurt even more to be someone whose life is so bland that they actually care about such things. “And I’m sure that that’s only because he isn’t interested in doing so. And even if he is now, he’s lost his chance. Alec would kill him. Or them. All...thirteen of them?” Does Hugh Hefner not know how to count the months?

“Twins.”

“I think I remember that night, actually.”

Tony doesn’t even have the British decency to look chagrined. “Really?”

Q rolls his eyes. “No. It happened so often back then there’s no way I’d be able to tell one encounter from another.” At this, Tony seems to feel a little guilty, if turning around and pulling a bag of skittles out of a drawer is an admission of guilt. Q plops down on a stool and outstretches a cupped hand. Tony obligingly pours a few candies into his hand. “So, Dalek then? Or would you prefer we continue rehashing your wild years? We can only be thankful for the fact that bond marks don’t come in until both parties are mature enough; I can only imagine how messed up I would be from my childhood if I’d had to suffer through your university years.”

“Hey, I came out fine,” Tony protests, but he pulls up a few data screens.

It turns out that having holographic technology and a beyond state of the art AI makes engineering ridiculously effortless. Yet, designing the Dalek goes...well it doesn’t go. Mostly because Q and Tony butt heads over every other feature and thus stop working every few minutes to viciously chuck holographic models at each other. It’s as terrifying as it is exhilarating, doing this with someone who can keep up, who can actually understand and appreciate his ideas - his underlings in Q branch understand but don’t appreciate on the basis that they’re his ideas and his Double-Os appreciate but don’t understand. If only Tony would actually agree with him, this would be perfect.

“Jarvis, give it the Gryffindor treatment,” Tony commands. The chassis Q is looking at goes from a nice, nondescript gray to flashy red and gold.

“Yes, let’s make it visible from outer space,” Q drawls, changing the colors back. Tony hops off his stool, bends over Q’s hologram and quickly flies through a few menus before stumbling upon what he’s looking for. A few taps and swipes later, the Dalek model can “turn invisible” and is gold and red once more. Q makes a mental note to look over the specs for that later. “Fine, but we are not making a little robot Kaled to put inside the Dalek. Those things are disgusting,” Q compromises.

“Fine, but we’re still giving the Dalek personality.”

Q looks at Tony in surprise. “You’re giving it intelligence and then shooting at it?” Q feels queasy at the thought. 

“What? No!” His Alpha protests. “That’d be fucked up. I was joking about shooting at it. Jesus.” 

Tony seems sincere. Still, “I don’t think we should give it intelligence either way. Instead, we should just make it respond to commands. Giving it an AI is risky.” 

“And giving it a hackable frequency isn’t? Besides, I’m a master at coding.” Dummy must be eavesdropping because he bobs his single arm up and down in agreement from where he’s organizing screwdrivers by color.

“Are you saying I’m not a master at what I do?” Q argues. Just because Bruce and Alec and Clint and common sense tell him he should be trying to get along with his soul mate doesn’t mean that he has to be spineless and agree to everything Stark says.

“Well…” Tony hedges. “Jarvis did manage to get into your systems.” Once. When Q was focused on other things, like how James was bleeding out. Not that he doesn’t get shot often, but usually it isn’t on Q’s watch or in such a vital area.

“Jarvis. Not you. Not anyone else.” Not since he fixed the systems after the Silva incident.

“But I birthed Jarvis, so technically it was me.”

“Speaking as Tony Stark’s brain,” Jarvis intercedes, before Q can launch into a philosophical tirade about the difference between creators and creations. “Might I suggest you just flip a coin or use a RNG?” 

Q looks at Tony. Q would prefer a coin toss because they’re easy to rig, but he doesn’t have any coins on him. Tony looks back at Q and raises an eyebrow. Right, billionaire. He probably doesn’t even know what a coin looks like. The bitcoin symbol maybe, but you can’t exactly flip one of those.

“Random number generator it is,” Q concedes. “One to a hundred?” 

Tony nods and Q scribbles down a number next to the gold and red monstrosity on his screen. Tony does the same and they flip the screens so they can see each others’ numbers.

“Twenty,” Jarvis announces, making Tony the winner. Seriously, who chooses one anyways? Everyone knows that the probability of having the number closest to the random number is higher if you choose fifty. Or even that one and a hundred are literally the worst possible choices.

Unless Tony wanted him to win? But then why would he argue at all in the first place? Q wonders if Stark takes him seriously at all. Then again, it doesn’t matter if the Alpha takes him seriously - Stark seems to win at everything without even trying - Q does not _need_ some Alpha’s validation. 

Said Alpha is currently oblivious to the world and Q’s confusion, furiously typing. Q slides the Dalek model to the side of his screen and pulls up the code Tony is creating for it. Grudgingly, after Q has a few moments to comprehend what the engineer is doing, he has to admit that Tony’s brilliant. The lines of code are neat and written in a way that makes it look easy, despite the fact that no one would ever be able to come up with this themselves.

He couldn’t.

Q alternates between glancing at the code and the man writing it with a small sense of wonder. What would it be like to be caught up in Tony’s genius? To desire Tony and this surreal little world more than he wants to be Q, more than he wishes James could be his?

He can imagine it, somehow meeting Tony while he’d been at university, before he’d met the Alphas that he had. Maybe on one of Tony’s visits to London, maybe Q would’ve gone to a Stark convention or Tony would’ve give a guest lecture or Q would’ve interned for him. No matter, Q, David, would’ve fallen for the engineer immediately even without having had the bond mark yet. Someone this brilliant? He wouldn’t have stood a chance. David would’ve celebrated - with Tony - the day the bond mark appeared, would’ve run his fingers over the letters with curious amazement, marveled at the messy scrawl every time he saw it in the mirror, felt on top of the world every time his mate traced over it with reverent fingers. The mark would be perfect, not the mess of scars it is now because David never would’ve been kidnapped, never would’ve traded his dignity for the chance to end a man’s life.

Maybe Stark never would’ve been kidnapped. David never would’ve had to experience slowly dying: once through Stark and once through little white pills. Rationally, he knows it never would’ve gone that smoothly. But still, he should want this. Belonging together. This is everything he could’ve hoped for. That he used to hope for when he was a child. And he does want this, but almost like an afterthought: not nearly as much as he should, not nearly as much as Tony deserves. Q would almost rather Tony be horrible so that he could resent the Alpha instead of his own idiocy.

“I wish I’d met you first,” Q says, almost wistfully. 

“You’re in love with your agent.” Tony looks up, looks Q dead in the eye, sounding so resigned that Q fiercely aches to lie and say no.

“Not that. I meant before…” Q pauses, unsure how to best phrase it. “Before I decided I would never bond.” He picks at the lint on his cardigan as an excuse to break eye contact. 

Tony’s typing falters. “You never told me that.” He doesn’t sound angry, just curious. “Why?”

Q isn’t sure if Tony is asking why Q hadn’t told him or if the Alpha wants to know why doesn’t want to bond. Q shrugs, as if that’ll shake the uncertainty away. “Doesn’t it terrify you? The thought of one person mattering so much that he could ruin you with a few words? That you’d do almost anything merely for a scrap of approval or affection?” To forget that your self worth is more important than the rush of hormones when an Alpha touches your skin, he thinks bitterly.

Stark stops typing entirely. “You don’t need a bond for that to happen. In fact, with bonds it’s much more likely that both people parties feel that strongly. In 76% of domestic abuse cases the abuser isn’t bonded. Besides, most decent people would never use that against you.”

“Most people aren’t decent.”

“Not in our lines of work, no,” Stark agrees.

Not outside of them either. “You weren’t in the hero business when Stane tried to kill you.” Q remembers that night. He hadn’t known what was going on at first. It had happened at the most inopportune time possible: when he was meeting M for the first time. Although, calling it a meeting might be too polite of a description. M had broken into his flat in the middle of the night, demanded tea with a splash of scotch, and asked if he would stop flooding their computers with condescending pop-ups if she hired him. He’d said yes, of course, and she’d pulled out a contract as long as the thesis he’d written for graduate school. He’d flipped through the last twenty pages without reading them - pretending he could read faster than any human being alive could - as he’d started to feel twitches of pain. Before he could sign his name though, the pen had slipped out of fingers as his heart started trying to beat its way out of his chest.

M had raised an eyebrow at that. Before she could take the contract back, Q had signed - hand shaking so badly his signature had come out looking like an inkblot. She’d calmly looked from the contract back to him, waiting for an explanation and offering no assistance as he curled up in his chair and clutched at his chest. Q had gasped out, “Not me,” and she’d nodded with understanding, stood up to leave. 

As M had walked out his door, she’d advised him, “You might want to fix that.” Q would’ve laughed if he hadn’t been too busy feeling like he was dying. It’d been a pretty awful feeling. It wasn’t a fixable problem, unless you considered murder a fix. Considering the job he’d just signed on for though, he’d been pretty sure she did.

Tony huffs, bringing Q’s mind back to the present. “I won’t ask how you know that. Anyways, funny thing: weapons manufacturing isn’t exactly a peaceful operation either.”

“Imagine that,” Q drawls. 

“You really don’t want to bond?” Tony asks. 

Q shrugs. “I don’t know anymore. It’s not the smartest option, considering what we do for our livings.”

“Engineering?” Tony jokes. “I know I don’t follow standard procedures, but those are for people who don’t know what they’re doing.” Behind Tony, Jarvis - at least Q assumes it’s Jarvis unless there’s another AI that he doesn’t know about or Tony’s systems are compromised - pulls up a old video. Q has to bite his lip to stifle his laughter as Tony tests out the propulsion system on his first Iron Man suit, fails miserably, and gets doused in fire extinguisher foam. 

“And I’m sure you know what you’re doing,” Q says primly, trying to keep a straight face. “You know what I mean.”

Tony hums noncommittally, resuming his typing - adding safety protocols, aptly enough. “Is that why you didn’t bond with Bond?”

“Is there anything to drink?” Q asks, stalling. That, and as much as clarity of mind is good for conversations like this, so is alcohol.

“Sure. We can move this up a floor.” Tony hops off his stool and walks towards the door, expecting Q to follow. The holoscreen he’d been typing on trails behind him like a lost puppy. Q scoops it up as he enters the elevator. “The common room has a fully stocked bar, though Jarvis won’t allow us to touch any weapons if our BAC is over 0.25. We can still science though. There’s juice too.” Tony squints at Q. “In case anyone catches us. I don’t want it to look like I’m giving a minor alcohol.” 

“One: I’m not a minor. Two: The drinking age is lower here, not that that’s relevant as I’m over 21. Three: You’re allowed to drunk engineer things but not touch a gun? I’m pretty sure that the former is more concerning. Not to mention the fact that your AI has to drunksit you.” Q plops down in the corner of a ridiculously large sectional and watches Tony pour himself a drink with practiced ease. “Are you an alcoholic?”

“I’d hope so. I actually don’t know how old you are. Anyways it’s all about appearances. Also, drunk engineering is great. I made Dummy the first time I got blackout drunk. Woke up with no memories of the night before to a robot poking me in the head. Scared the crap out of me. Thought I’d been abducted by aliens. I don’t recommend it. Nono is also a product of alcoholic inspiration. And no, I’m not a alcoholic. So, what’s your poison?”

Q blinks, unsure if the Alpha realizes how contradictory that sounded or that he seems to have a habit of making AIs when drunk. A lonely drunk then. And Q has moved him away from all of his friends. Q rubs his temple, not that that’ll prevent the impending mess of a conversation. “I don’t suppose you have any tea?” Predictably, Tony blanches. “A peppermint schnapp then, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments and encouragement as always. To the anon who sent me a message on tumblr, your message made my day, thanks! Sorry I didn't respond on tumblr because that was my hockey tumblr. My tumblr is misadventureofme.tumblr.com if you feel like chatting Tony/Q goodness sometime :).


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy American Turkey Day! (Though I hear Canadians celebrate it too, just as an excuse to have a second Thanksgiving. What's up with that, eh?) As always, super duper thanks for reading and even more thanks to my wonderful beta, TriumphantDisaster. As always, feel free to leave comments or msg me on tumblr at misadventureofme.tumblr.com!

“I hate chocolate,” Q complains as he lethargically crawls onto the sofa from where he’d been kneeling on the floor in front of Tony. He lands half on top of his mate. Q rubs his face against Tony’s shirt sleeve to wipe the chocolate sauce that had missed off his lips. It’s Tony’s fault for missing anyways. And it’s a black shirt. “And the American way of drinking peppermint shnapps is weird. And messy. I don’t know why you let me talk me - you? - me into it.” Q scrunches his eyebrows. “You plied me with alcohol,” he accuses.

“Uh, Q, you probably should have mentioned that four shots ago. You could’ve had something you actually like.”

“No. It’s a metaphor,” he frowns and lays down, legs still draped over Tony’s. 

“A metaphor?”

“Like the Hulk is a metaphor.”

“Oookay then. No more shnapps for you.”

“You’re not the boss of me. I can shnapp all I want and you can’t shnapp me,” Q says indignantly. 

“Okay if you can take this bottle out of my hand then I won’t, uh, ‘schnapp’ you,” Tony challenges.

Q glares at Tony. Is the Alpha making fun of him again? Q reaches for the bottle, but Tony keeps moving it before Q can get a good grip on it. “Stop moving it, cheater.”

“I’m not moving it,” Tony says, grinning. "You're just drunk off your ass."

“Don’t sass me.” Q makes grabby hands, but Tony still doesn’t hand the bottle over. Q huffs. “The Hulk really is a metaphor. Ask Bruce if you don’t believe me.”

“I’m sure it is, but you’re still drunk.” 

“M’not drunk. I married Bond. Grants me immunity,” Q states primly.

“Diplomatic immunity, maybe. Immunity to alcohol, not so much.” Tony gently shifts Q’s legs to the couch as he stands up. “I’m going to get you some water.” Q closes his eyes and curls up in the corner of the sectional. It’s comfier than his bed. It’s ridiculous. This whole tower is ridiculous.

When Tony returns, he sits next to Q’s head, rather return to his earlier seat. 

“Come on. Up,” Tony commands. Q opens his eyes and blinks up at his mate. He is perfectly content where he is; in fact, he suspects the couch has swallowed his limbs. Tony rolls his eyes and gently tugs Q up so that Q’s head is propped up against Tony’s leg. The Alpha presses the glass of water against Q’s lips and tilts it just the right angle. 

Q swallows, then turns to the side to make himself more comfortable. 

“So, not to take advantage of you when you’re drunk or anything, but Bond?” 

Q sighs. “He can’t bond with me. For personal reasons. Just like, as you’ve probably figured out by now, I can’t sleep with some random Alpha during my heat to fix my hormonal imbalances.”

“You’ve gone into heat before though.”

“How do you know that?” Q asks.

It hits him exactly the same time Tony answers, “I could feel it. Once a month, for a while. Until...oh.”

Q feels Tony tense up, no doubt thinking dreadful things. Shouldn’t Stark already know for the most part what had happened? Unless the kidnappers hadn’t contacted him for ransom like they’d said? “Until Captain America formed a fledgling bond with Alec. And just for the record, my heats are only biannual. ” 

“I saw the pictures, Q. In the ransom e-mail. Not until after I’d returned to America, though. Jarvis usually scans through my e-mails and there are a lot of claims - we have someone on retainer who checks them all out, but J didn’t think there was any reason to show me them. Not until after I’d met you.”

Well then. “My kidnappers - god I hate that word I’m not a child, I don’t have spots - didn’t torture me or anything, not really. Stripped me to find out who my soulmate was, ran the knife over it a few times, chained me to a wall. I escaped about the same time MI6 arrived,” Q says, trying to be blase. It’s not a lie, but it doesn’t feel like the truth with the way he leaves out what _he_ did.

“Well that explains the panic attack,” Tony quips doubtfully. The Alpha nudges Q to turn up and holds the glass of water to Q’s lips again, apparently determined to hydrate him.

Q drinks, then looks Tony dead in the eyes.“Whatever you’re thinking happened? It didn't. They didn’t force me to do anything. As if they could,” Q scoffs for good measure, then quickly realizes that was a bad idea as bile comes up his throat. He quickly turns back onto his side and swallows, cringing a bit. “Honestly, the messy part was after you and Captain America showed up.”

“Wait, Alec was your partner, but you married James three days after escaping captivity? I’m slightly confused here.”

Q briefly considers lying, using the cover story he and Bond had crafted running all over London. He’s not sure why he considers lying though, not when he has nothing to lose by telling the truth or to gain by lying. “It was a fake marriage.” Tony flinches at that and oh, maybe Q should’ve told the truth. He wriggles a bit closer to Tony in apology, curling his body so that his shoulder brushes Tony’s side. “I actually very much disliked James at the time.”

Tony rests his arm on Q’s side, hand draped over where his name is on the Omega’s skin. Q isn’t sure if it’s on purpose, or just natural given the position. James has done the same plenty of times, but Q doesn’t feel great about having Tony’s arm draped atop him. He doesn’t feel panic attack-y either, but...“And now?” Tony asks.

“You already know the answer to that,” Q replies quietly. With that said, there’s no way to politely remove Tony’s hand from his rib cage without risking hurting his mate’s feelings irreparably. 

“Looks like there’s hope for us yet,” Tony jokes. Behind the joke, Q can hear a glimmer of serious optimism.

“Maybe,” Q agrees. "I never hated you though, not really." Q sits up and reaches for the glass of water in Tony’s other hand even though he’s not particularly thirsty. Tony’s arms falls away from him and the engineer hands him the glass. He curls his hands around the glass, tracing the rim of it. “Not so much for James and I though, huh?” It’s not a fair question, especially because none of this is Tony’s fault. “Nevermind. That wasn’t…” Q sighs, shakes his head. "I should get going. Sober up.” He moves to stand, but Tony gently tugs on his sleeve.

Q tears his gaze away from his glass and looks at Tony. 

“You don’t have to leave. The Tower has a lot of empty guest suites. For you know, Thor and Steve and Bruce if they ever have time to visit. They’re fully stocked and I won’t bother you, you don’t even have to talk to me in the morning if you don’t want to; I just don’t think you’re in any condition to be alone. Your house has been compromised and,” Tony cuts off, running a hand through his hair. “You can go if you want, but could you at least let me drop you off or Clint escort you or - I’m not doubting you can take care of yourself, just -”

“Thanks,” Q says. Alphas are worse than mother hens, but Tony has a point. “What if I want to sleep in your room?” He asks, his usual filter that blocks his curiosity gone somewhere around his second shot. 

“Then I’d sleep on the couch if you want me in the room, or in one of the guest rooms,” Tony explains simply, as if that’s the obvious, _the only_ , answer to that question even if Q had meant innocent cuddling. The engineer is frowning and oh, this is why Q needs his filters. Tony tugs Q up from the couch - gently - and leads him to the lift. “You’re drunk. C’mon, bedtime. Jarvis will take you to the right floor and get you settled. He won’t let anyone in, not even me, without your permission, unless you slip in the shower and crack your head or something," his mate assures, steering him inside the elevator with a light hand on his back.

Tony pecks Q on the forehead, but it feels perfunctory. “Sleep well, Q.” Before Q can say anything, the lift doors close and he begins to descend, Jarvis suspiciously silent in a way that feels accusatory.

Q, despite his alcohol-induced drowsiness, does not sleep well at all.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: potentially triggery stuff. Content deals with issues of consent to do with Q's uni days. Short summary of the chapter can be found in the end notes for anyone uncomfortable with the chapter, although the first ¼ of the chapter is safe. 
> 
> Other than that, happy holidays and much thanks to TriumphantDisaster's friend (who unfortunately does not have an ao3 that I can credit) for beta’ing this chapter! All remaining mistakes are my own.

Q’s head is pounding when he awakens. In a foreign room. As seems to be par for the course lately. He springs up, heart pounding, then slowly relaxes as his mind to catches up to his body and he remembers last night’s events. When it does, he thinks it might’ve been better if he didn’t remember.

First thing first, he slides out of bed to take a suppressant, grabbing his cardigan off the floor and pulling the bottle out of the pocket. The bottle hardly rattles as he shakes a pill out; it’s nearly empty. He’ll have to go back to MI6 tomorrow even if M is still “banning” him from the premises under the guise of protecting him from R. More like the old codge wants him to figure his personal life out. Fat chance at this rate. Q swallows the pill down dry then drags himself back into bed, falling asleep the instant his head hits the pillow.

The second time he wakes, it’s 1:23 p.m. and his head feels as good as it’s going to get. He internally winces at the time as he gets a good look at his surroundings. He hadn’t really been perceptive of his surroundings last night. He isn’t even sure what floor he’s on.

The room is painted in three different shades of brown and pretty minimal; the most notable piece of furniture being the almost-full bookshelf next to a recliner. The titles range from biophysics to philosophy. At the bottom right corner are a few books detailing theories, both scientific and otherwise, on soulmates and bond marks. He recognizes a few of the titles and pulls out “The Science Behind Souls and Selection” on a whim. 

The first chapter is on evolution, a mix of science and myth. Folk legend, or something of the like - Q never paid too much attention to that part - romanticizes that people were once eight-limbed creatures with two faces, one heart, and one soul. Some god, fearing these creatures’ might, split them in two, condemning them to be incomplete until they found their missing piece. The science bit is much more interesting; soul mates are a result of the evolutionary need to survive and reproduce. Soul mates are two people who are highly genetically compatible for producing strong, healthy offspring. Now, with modern medicine and modern diseases, such an evolutionary trait is much like a vestigial limb in most first world countries. Even if two people are soul mates, their genes will still pass on things such as an inclination towards bad eyesight or increased risk of cancer. Even if two people aren’t soul mates, a weak infant can be saved by hospital doctors. The theory is silly at best and usually crock-full of shit, especially as those select few without a destined soul mate are written off as genetically defective even when they’re perfectly healthy - not carriers of any diseases, recessive or dominant - and there is documentation of people who are infertile having bond marks. 

Unfortunately, people tend to believe everything they read, published or otherwise. What does Tony believe, for him to be so sure that having one’s soul mate is worth so much trouble?

In the margins there are notes in sharp, efficient handwriting. The letters are all connected and there are traces of ink between words, as if the writer was too busy angrily writing to lift his pen up. The writer being Bruce Banner, given the contents. Q idly wonders if Bruce has noticed that Tony relocated some of his books to London.

About ¾ of the notes are scientific ramblings that Q would have to get a PhD in biochemistry to even hope to understand. The remaining notes that Q can decipher are dark, obviously private musings that Q feels guilty for having seen. He places the book back on the shelf. Not a book that Bruce would miss, then. The Banner that Q met was much more well adjusted than the tormented man who wrote those notes.

Q wonders if Jarvis is subtly hinting at something, placing him in this room. “Jarvis, do you disapprove of me?” He asks as he makes his way to the bathroom to shower off the scent of alcohol and brush his teeth.

“I am incapable of feelings,” Jarvis replies coolly. That’s a yes, then.

“I’m trying,” Q promises. He really is, but it’s like trying to fix a convoluted code riddled with bugs. One step forward, three steps backwards; it’d be better to just start from scratch. And pray for a walkthrough or manual of some sort. 

_1\. Don’t get drunk because you’ll say stupid things. 2. Don’t say stupid things even if they’re true and you’re sober. 3. ..?_

“Noted.” 

Q does his morning routine - the bathroom is fully stocked, as Tony assured - then pulls on yesterday’s clothes. “Jarvis, is Tony busy?” He asks politely as he makes his way to the lift.

“Mr Stark is part of supervillain-fighting team, makes all the equipment for said team, runs several charities, just moved to a new country, and produces new technology for the world’s most innovative company. He is always busy.”

Q internally winces. He hadn’t thought Jarvis was this angry at him. Tony must’ve reacted really badly. Which, the Alpha would be well within his rights to. “Has he eaten yet?” Q inquires, changing tactics and trying to show the AI that he’s attempting to make amends.

“He hasn’t.”

“Could you take me to the kitchen? I’d like to grab some food and apologize to Tony.” Sandwiches, Q can do sandwiches. And eggs.

Jarvis starts the lift and walks Q through making eggs sunny side up (which he only needs help with because he doesn’t know where anything is in this gigantic kitchen), Tony’s favorite sandwich, and, most importantly, how to use the complicated, half-sentient coffee machine named Ragebean. Q thinks it’s a Hulk joke, but he’s not sure. 

Jarvis takes him up to the lab, and Q has a strange sense of deja vu, observing Tony through the glass walls. Except, this time, Tony’s movements aren’t sure and fluid at all. Instead, the engineer is vibrating with agitation, stabbing at single holographic screen in front of him, foot tapping madly. Rather than zipping around happily, Dummy, You, and Butterfinger are off on the other side of the lab, quietly arranging some parts and avoiding Tony. There are a few scraps of abandoned projects lying around and a half-empty bottle of cognac on the bench next to him.

Q did this to Tony.

His mate gnashes his teeth and hits the screen. It’s not solid, but still Q winces as it shatters. Tony takes an unhealthy swig of cognac and pulls up a new screen. 

Q takes a deep breath and hesitantly knocks on the door to announce his presence, or to let Jarvis announce his presence to Tony because it’s doubtful that Tony can hear him knocking over the sound of his music. The Alpha stills then slowly turns towards Q. He looks angry and defeated, wary as if he’s scared Q will do something to make him regret opening the door.

It’s a fair assessment, at this point, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t unexpectedly sting. 

Tony motions for Q to come in, so he hesitantly opens the door, holding the sandwiches and mug of coffee in front of him.

“What do you want from me?” Tony asks. “Or, better question: what do you need from me because I’m pretty sure that if you had a choice, you wouldn’t be here.”

Q sets the food down on the workbench. “I would like for us to be friends at the least, independent of everything else, but more would be nice as well, if possible.”

“Friends don’t accuse each other of being willing to take advantage of them. I’m trying, Q; it’s one thing, to be in love with James and that sucks and I’m trying to not be the asshole I’m frequently told that I am, but it’s another thing entirely to say shit like that when you obviously don’t mean it and you’re drunk as shit.”

Q takes a shuddery breath. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“If all you need is my dick, that’s fine, just tell me. I release you from that stupid promise I made you make. I’m sick of this push and pull shit. One second you kiss me the next you need to get drunk to even talk to me.”

“It’s not that,” Q protests. He digs his fingernails into his palms. “I’m just as frustrated as you. I’m _trying_ , just-”

“Yeah? Because it really doesn’t seem like it.” Tony looks like he’s about to launch into some grand tirade, chest slightly puffed from the large inhale of air he’d taken in preparation.

Q cuts him off. He has no desire to hear Tony hash out his failures when he already knows them.“Are you sober enough to remember this conversation tomorrow?” Q asks, using the soft but serious tone that he usually reserves for ordering Double-Os around in terrifying situations. 

Tony nods.

“Good. Then sit and listen.” Tony doesn’t sit, but he at least appears to be listening. Q pulls out a stool, unclenches his fists, takes a deep breath, stares at the palms of his hands.“I have hated Alphas since I was fourteen.”

Tony sits. “You don’t have to tell me, Q. When I called the university - the things they said - I can guess,” Tony says softly, as if Q is something so easily _spooked_ , like a cornered, frightened animal.

“And what did they tell you?” Tony opens his mouth, but it was meant to be rhetorical. 

Q knows all about the legacy he left behind. New MI6 recruits who are recently graduated from Oxford tend to whisper very loudly, if they even bother to whisper at all. “Whatever they told you, whatever your assumptions are, they’re wrong. Anyways, what happened isn’t what’s important; it’s what I learned. Although to put your worries to ease, it was only with four Alphas that I’d been friends with, I slept with them and then we parted ways. I never said no or anything of the sort.” Tony looks like he wants to protest. It’s infuriating. “The only reason we parted ways was because it was bad sex. That’s all.”

“Bad sex gave you an epiphany?”

Q looks up from his lap, shrugs off Tony’s misplaced doubt, imagines it falling off his shoulders like a shedded skin. “Anyways-”

“Did you say yes?” Tony asks, apparently refusing to be shrugged away.

“Implicitly. Most people don’t stop in the middle of things and ask if you're still good for it, Tony, I wanted to do it.” At the time. How stupid he had been. “I wanted to please them.”

“You were fifteen. That’s ra-”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Q seethes. “It _wasn’t_. They didn’t force me or coerce me!” He glares Tony in the eyes, dares him to say otherwise, to paint a victim out of him. Q’s hands are clenched at his sides. “You can’t say anything about me being only fifteen; God only knows what you were doing at MIT at that age. And it’s not different because you’re an Alpha or and I’m an Omega.”

“If I was on drugs and wanted it, and someone sober knew I was fucked up and still fucked me, even if I liked it, that’s still them taking advantage of me.”

“I was young, not on drugs,” Q says resolutely. The little white pills that are slowly killing him, those didn’t start until Tony’s name appeared. “And exactly how old were you your first time, you paradigm of virtue?” Q counters.

“Young, on drugs, same thing really.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“We aren’t talking about me.”

“And you aren’t listening to what I’m saying.”

“Fine! What’s your great epiphany then? What’s your amazing reason for automatically hating every single Alpha on the planet and thinking that we’re all rapists?” Tony vociferates. ”Obviously it doesn’t stem from anything horrible that happened in your childhood. You won't even say the word.”

“That Omegas don’t matter to Alphas, not really! Sure, we’re useful for fucking, if we’re pretty, so you can get bragging rights, get your rocks off. You don’t see us as equals; we’re hardly people at times. You throw us in these little boxes and label us as inconsequential because our biology renders us at your mercy, because you’re bigger, stronger, and think that makes you smarter too. We’re something that need to be coddled, seen not heard. Our opinions hardly ever matter.” Q seethes. “I tell you that I’m _trying_ , you don’t believe me. I tell you that I wasn’t _raped_ ," Q spits the word out, "and here you are, crowing about me practically being on drugs and how it _must’ve_ been rape like you know better than I do!”

Q swipes the knife off the plate of uneaten peace offerings and throws it as hard as he can. It whizzes past Tony’s ear with deadly accuracy, close enough that the Alpha feels the rush of displaced air, and embeds itself in sofa across the room, the hilt of it barely peeking out. “Do I seem like someone who could be coerced or forced?” 

“Goddamn it, Q. Stop making everything about gender. It doesn’t fucking matter that you’re an Omega and they’re Alphas and you know that I don’t believe in that inferiority shit. What happened isn't a reflection on you. You were - ”

Q springs off his stool and pins Tony against the counter with a hand to the off-balanced Alpha’s chest, kissing him viciously. When Tony move his hand towards Q’s shoulder - either to pull him in or push him away, Q doesn’t know - Q pulls back. There’s blood on the Alpha’s lip. 

“I didn’t ask,” Q snarls. 

“What do you want me to do? Do you want me to be the big bad Alpha?” Tony yells, pushing off the stool and drawing himself to full height. The stool falls to its side with a loud clang. “Push you against the counter, send you into a panic attack? Want me to fuck you because your body needs it, while you _hate_ every second of it?” Q squares his shoulders, resolutely starts the Alpha in the eyes. He’s so close he can see the starburst-like texture of Tony’s irises. “I’m not going to do that, Q.” Tony sags against the counter, all sign of fight gone. “I’m not going to play your insane game.”

“It’s not a game.”

“You were _fifteen_.”

“If not fifteen, then some other time. To be treated like an object, a trigger to be pulled.” 

Tony hesitantly reaches out to him. Q doesn’t move a centimeter. Tony won’t hurt him; the Alpha has already shown that, but Q still doesn’t know what to expect.

He finds himself in a loose embrace, Tony hunching a little so they’re of about even height. 

Q wonders what he should do with his arms. It wouldn’t feel right to hug Tony back, not in a hug meant to give comfort when he has no comfort to give, but it’s equally as awkward to do nothing and the only other option is to slip out of the hug and he sees no reason to pull away. Q attempts to relax his muscles to show Tony that embrace isn’t unwelcome, though, “I don’t need your comfort. I’m fine.”

Tony looks like he wants to argue that, but all he says is, “I know, but I want to give it. Is that okay?”

“Occasionally,” Q agrees, compromising. He decides to place his hands on Tony’s hips for minimal awkwardness. “Once I’m off suppressants, I’ll be far less irrationally emotional. We’re never talking about this matter again.”

“It might help prevent panic attacks, talking to someone.”

Q suddenly realizes that he’d never corrected Tony when the Alpha had assumed that the reason for his panic attack was because of his first time. Might as get it over with now, seeing as everything else is in the air. “I’ve only had one panic attack - aside from the ones I experienced vicariously through you - and it was the result of getting kidnapped, not from sleeping with someone before I was the ripe age of sixteen.”

Tony reels backwards, eyes flitting around Q’s face as if searching for something. “You said-”

“I didn’t know when MI6 would find me and I was going to go into heat soon. I did what I needed to in order to escape. Help showed up right after I castrated my guard post-mortem.” Q closes his eyes, tries to erase the image of his holding room from his mind. “It wasn’t particularly hard to convince him to free me.”

“Oh.” Tony is silent for a moment, obviously searching for something to say. Q hopes that the Alpha doesn’t apologize or say something equally pitying. “Why post-mortem?”

“He bled out faster than I’d thought he would.” Not exactly true, but it sounds better than saying he flipped out and stabbed Nathan a few dozen times before coming to his senses, and Q has told enough truths today already. 

“I can see why you didn’t exactly welcome me to London with open arms,” Tony says wryly, trying to lighten the mood. 

“I’m trying now.”

“I believe you,” Tony assures. “Sorry I was an ass earlier. Hey, how did you make it work with James?”

Q blinks. “He’s queer as can be.”

“But, you-” Tony starts to say, then stops. “Well, that’s not as helpful as I was hoping it would be.”

“He tends to be like that. Should we get back to the Dalek, seeing as Jarvis has been kind enough to not ban you from the lab on grounds of your alcohol consumption?” Q asks, gingerly picking up a mess of wires and metal that bears little semblance to anything and raising an eyebrow at Tony.

“Don’t look at me. Dummy made that.”

“I’m sure.” Q sets the sad contraption - if it can even be called that - down and pulls up a screen to start looking at alloys. 

In the corner of his vision, he sees Tony pick up the sandwich and take a bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems Q has a habit of kissing Alphas to prove a point, hm? 
> 
> Anyways, summary: Q wakes up in the room designed for Bruce, Jarvis makes his disapproval known, Q makes an apology breakfast to bring down to Tony to show Jarvis his good intentions, Tony is slightly not sober and mad at Q for what Q said last night (implying that Tony would be down to take advantage of him). Q tells Tony about his past (uni and kidnapping), they yell at each other, Tony hugs Q, and they go back to Dalek building. And Tony eats Q’s apology breakfast. I swear it sounds better in long form.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how it goes by now: apologies for slow updates and thanks to TriumphantDisaster as always for beta'ing. Thanks for sticking with us, and feel free to comment below or at misadventureofme.tumblr.com

Q fixes his security before heading to work. He makes sure to arrive early, while there are only a few night-shifters left, most of them straggling home. It’s not a hardship, seeing as he didn’t sleep anyways. Tony Stark is terrible influence who believes that caffeine - not even tea - is a perfect substitute for REM cycles. On the bright side, the Dalek was fully operational by 3 a.m. and, thankfully, is much better at hitting targets than Tony, whose aim is pretty appalling. Thank god for Jarvis’ autocorrection, or Tony would’ve destroyed New York rather than save it, good intentions or no.

Predictably, the Alphas sniff at the air - as if their dull senses could really glean them any information - but stay silent. “Keep that up, and I’ll assign you to 007 for his next mission,” Q threatens. Not that he would ever subject 007 to that horror, but they don’t know that.

“I don’t know why all the Double-Os think you’re so damn precious,” One of them snorts. At first Q thinks that the Alpha is implying that he slept with them all to win their favor, but the Alpha’s smirk isn’t unkind. 

“R sure doesn’t, after you humiliated him in that coffee shop. He really liked that barista, you know,” another Alpha chimes in as she exits the room.

“I know,” Q shouts at her back.

Her laughter vibrates through the tunnels.

The first Alpha who had spoken pauses by Q on his way out. “Be careful around him. I’m pretty sure he’s hankering for revenge.”

“Thanks?” Q replies, unsure why the Alpha is telling him this.

It must show on his face because the Alpha shrugs. “He’s an arse; while you were gone he went about trying to order us around all the time. Went on a real power trip.”

“I’m still sure the majority of your coworkers would still prefer him to me,” Q says primly.

“Not really,” the Alpha objects. “Where did you get that idea?”

Q arches an eyebrow. Is this guy serious? He doesn’t smell like he’s lying, but then again he could just be delusional. “One: I’m an Omega. Two: None of you like me. In fact, there’s probably a high correlation between the two.”

“We don’t exactly dislike you either,” the Alpha replies. At Q’s disbelieving look he smiles sheepishly. “Most of us at least. And okay, we all did at first, but that’s because you were a bossy little shite with a gigantic chip on your shoulder and you glared at every single one of us every time we so much as looked your way. You acted like you were better than all of us. Which, okay, you’re Q now but back then we thought you were just an overconfident asshole of an Omega. Although, with that attitude you had, everyone would’ve hated you either way. And ya, it’s weird working under an Omega, but most of us have gotten used to that by now. By now we’ve realized that you’re just a workaholic robot who doesn’t know what human interaction is.”

“And you say you don’t dislike me,” Q surmises wryly. “Well, you lot are a bit less openly hostile than you used to be, although I’d always attributed that to my ridiculous bunch of glorified bodyguards.” Whom he still needs to chew out because he does not need anyone to give any Alpha the shovel talk for him; he can bury a body himself just fine. “Still asshats though. You could stop sniffing me every time I walk into work to see if I’ve been bred like a brood mare yet.”

“What can I say? We’re all interested to know if you actually have a life outside of work. Have to make sure you’re actually human, for all that you ever act like one. ”

“I hadn’t realized that you were all just purely concerned for my well being.”

The Alpha rolls his eyes. “Do you know my name?”

“You led project Phoenix Reboot 02,” Q answers, finding he actually doesn’t know the Alpha’s name, not that he even knows how that’s relevant. “You’re decent at handling agents, but prefer to stick to weaponry, specializing in in biological and chemical weapons. You’re only a little bit under R in the ladder.”

“You don’t know my name, do you?”

“No,” Q admits unashamedly. He knows what he needs to know. 

To Q’s surprise, the Alpha smiles. “Thought so. Have you ever thought that maybe the reason people are curious is because we know about as much about you as you do about us? And that the reason they don’t like you is because you don’t like us? Or even care for us, outside of the fact that we do our jobs.”

Q highly doubts that, mentally reviewing at his first year at MI6. “I have no reason to like anyone who treats me as eye candy and a place to rest their hands.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“The only reason you stopped is because I’m Q now. You’re still sleazebags. Well, not you specifically. You just watched, which I suppose gives you slightly higher moral ground.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” the Alpha asserts, completely ignoring Q’s jab. “Quite a few people changed their view of you after you were kidnapped.”

Q highly doubts that. If anything, it cemented their opinions. “Don’t I?”

“Not until you hire another Omega.” 

“Great idea, except how am I going to find one with a background in something that isn’t bloody home ec. when Alphas are in charge of the educational system and all but ban Omegas from higher education institutes?”

“You got by,” the Alpha shrugs again, adjusting the strap of his shoulder bag. “Anyways, take care of yourself. And, if you ever care to know, it’s Tyler.” 

Q blinks at Tyler’s back for only a moment before getting to work. There’s nothing urgent for him to do, as the missions he usually handles got delegated by M the other day. Q shoos the rest of his subordinates home then quickly gathers a few cameras and microphones and plants them around Q branch. He’s certain that they won’t be noticed, and if they are, well, he’ll just say it was a test. That done, he swings by Medical to pick up a new bottle of his suppressants, swallowing one of his few remaining pills as he goes. As always, the nurse - Omega - looks at him with equal parts pity and disapproval. 

“You’ve got your soul mate now, you don’t need these. One of these days, you’re going to faint and we won’t be able to wake you up,” she exaggerates. Nonetheless, she hands him his prescription. “Are things not going well with him?”

Q takes the bottle without a word, though he halfheartedly smiles at her in thanks because despite being a “workaholic robot” he can still be halfway polite, then retreats to his safe room to spy on his subordinates and start on a script to search for promising new recruits. He doesn’t think his search will be fruitful, but he supposes it couldn’t hurt. It doesn’t take much time or effort to get into schools’ systems and find any and all outliers.

It’s not a surefire process whatsoever. Most Omegas only have records up to high school, people do lie after they’ve presented, checking the wrong boxes even on medical forms, among other problems. Then again, if Tyler is wrong, it won’t matter either way. Q would hardly hire some bright-eyed twenty-something if that meant subjecting to them to a workplace full of sexist pigs.

So far, his coworkers have been pretty quiet, most of them not morning persons. Q pops out of his safe room under the guise of grabbing tea - as if he couldn’t make that in his safe room, he’s prepared - knowing that his brief appearance and the fact that he’s hiding out in his safe room rather than his normal office will stir up some talk.

Of course, R is sitting Q’s desk. Q arches an eyebrow at the Alpha as he walks back to his safe room. R stands up and gestures that the chair is open should Q want it, a sardonic smirk marring his face. “Thank you for warming my chair for me, but it really is unnecessary. Bench warming is a bit below your skill level, don’t you think?” Q enunciates loudly. He’ll just have to review the footage he collects later.

“Just trying to make sure you’re comfortable. We all know how delicate you are.”

“Not all of us can be clumsy brutes like you.” Q slides into his chair, dropping any act of civility. He sets his cup of tea down deliberately. “I’d offer you a cup, but you might spill it.”

“I’ll try to be more careful in the future,” R promises, scent so saccharine that Q nearly chokes on it. 

“Britain thanks you for it.”  
\-------

Q flops on his couch, tossing his jacket to the floor. He lays there for a moment before remembering that Nono is in America with Alec and isn’t going to jump onto his chest and butt his hand with her head until he pets her. Q rolls to his side, but that leaves him staring at the divorce papers on the table. The ones that James isn’t here to sign. Just as well, then.

Q is contemplating the cons of passing out on the couch versus the effort it will take to drag himself to bed when his doorbell sounds. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and brings up the video feed of his front door. Barton.

Q slides off the couch and presses the button to activate the intercom system. “What do you want?”

“To talk. I swear I’m not going to drug you again or anything. Tony would refuse to make me new gear for years. Look! I even used the front door.”

Well, nice to know it’s not the morality of it that has Barton walking on the right side of the line. “That’s because I fixed the vents,” Q drawls, but opens the door nonetheless. Now that he’s up, he might as well shower and make his way to bed. It’s not as if Barton hasn’t already seen his bedroom. 

Q starts unbuttoning his cardigan as Barton shuts the front door. He has his shirt halfway over his head when Barton clears his throat, sounding uncomfortable. “What?” Q asks, chucking the shirt on the ground and opening the door to the bathroom.

“I really am here to talk. Not to uh-”

Q raises an eyebrow at the archer. “I am going to take a shower because I have had a long day and want to go to sleep. You’re coming into the bathroom so I can keep an eye on you.”

“But-”

“You act as if you didn’t creep into my bedroom, strip me, and tie me up. It’s a bit late for you to be shy.” 

Barton shrugs, but comes in and closes the door behind himself. The archer politely turns away as Q pisses and finishes disrobing. “So? Talk,” Q commands. “I assume you listened in on us at some point.”

“Would have, if Stark hadn’t blacked out the lab. What’d you do to him? Normally I wouldn’t get involved, but Stark, he really believes in this shit you know? Like, he and Steve, that’s what they bonded over after hating each other for months. He loves his foundation, the one that helps people find their soulmates. People send him thank you letters and he actually reads every single one.”

“You don’t give him much privacy, do you,” Q observes.

“Nah, Nat told me. It’s a long story.”

“So, what are you here to tell me? To not fuck up? That Tony’s a good person? Give me the shovel talk?” Q is tired of people trying to meddle with his relationship with Tony, tired of advice he didn’t ask for and doesn’t want. “I’m trying. Leave us alone; it’s just going to take some time seeing as we’re practically the blind leading the blind.”

“I have pretty good eyesight,” Clint quips. 

“And yet, if you were to tell a blind man what the world looked like he still wouldn’t have a clue.”

“Whatever. Anyways, you’ve been in a relationship before. You’re _married_.”

“It’s different.”

“Because he wants to fuck you?” Clint asks so bluntly that Q almost slips as he reaches for a towel. “It’s not hard to figure out if you know what to look for.”

“Congratulations.”

“It helps to talk about it, though don’t ever tell the SHIELD psychs I said that. I don’t want to talk to them.”

“And what makes you think I want to talk to you?” Q says, brushing past Clint, towel wrapped around his waist, to grab clothes from his room. On his way, he retrieves his discarded clothing to dump in the laundry bin, surreptitiously texting Stark. _Your bird landed in the wrong nest. Retrieve immediately. Winter is coming. 74867._ He wonders how long it will take Tony to get here, if the Alpha will fly or drive or take his sweet time.

“Because I’m the only kickass Omega you know and you’re obviously more comfortable around me than you are an Alpha,” Barton says, gesturing to Q’s mostly naked form.

“I already talked to Tony about it.” Q gives Clint a withering glare, its effect no doubt diminished by the fact he’s in his pajama pants, but its meaning still clear. 

“His couch looks like someone threw a knife at it.”

“His couch. Not him.” Q slips past Clint again to brush his teeth. 

“That’s great news!” Clint cheers sarcastically. “Guess that means you trust him now. My job is done.”

Q resolutely continues to his teeth and doesn’t reply.

“I’ll just take your suppressants then, seeing as you don’t need them anymore. I’ll submit those divorce papers too; don’t worry I can forge the signatures.”

Q narrows his eyes and spits out the toothpaste foam in his mouth. “Don’t you dare.”

“Right, I’ll just give you time. How long has it been since you were assaulted?”

Q resists the urge to spit the water in his mouth at the archer instead of the sink. Barely. “I was never assaulted. Kidnapped, once. Well, twice thanks to you. Have you ever thought that maybe I just don’t enjoy sex, that I might be asexual?”

“No, pull the other one.”

Q sighs. “Barton, while you’re tolerable, I have no desire to talk to you about my sexual preferences or history and I have no idea why you think I ever would.”

“I could make you,” Barton says flatly.

“I’m sure you could,” Q yawns, plopping on his bed and rearranging his comforter and pillows to make himself comfortable, acting as if he isn't practically ready to throw Barton out the door. 

“Tony has his own problems. He doesn’t need yours too.”

“As of the moment, I only have one problem.” Q pointedly raises an eyebrow at Barton. 

“So you’re not terrified of bonding with Tony, on suppressants because the idea of having sex with an Alpha scares or repulses the fuck out of you, and you aren’t in denial of the fact that you were once sexually assaulted for reasons that I can only guess at because you won’t talk about it.”

“Do stop prattling and show yourself the door. I'm tired and would like to sleep.” Q doesn't have to fake the yawn that emphasizes his point, despite the fact that his tiredness has mostly been replaced by rage at this point.

“I came here to talk, remember?” Clint taunts, leaning over Q. “I bet you blame yourself. It’s easier that way, isn’t it? To hate yourself for being weak, to tell yourself that you’re stronger now so it’ll never happen again. That it was your fault for trusting them. But guess what, it’s out of your control. You didn’t do a single thing wrong then and even if you never do anything wrong again, it could happen again. You’re helpless,” Barton hisses. “Terrifies you, doesn’t it? To know that terrible, disgusting things will happen to you and you can’t stop them. You’d rather hate yourself than be scared.”

He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Q is about to tell him just that, show the spy firsthand that he is no simpering coward, when Tony appears, grabs Clint by the back of his shirt and yanks the Omega backwards. Clint whirls around to retaliate, but stops in the face of Tony’s glare. Tony looks _furious_ , angrier than Q has ever seen him, including yesterday morning. The Alpha is terrifying. Riveting.

“Get the hell out and stay the fuck away from us until you get your shit together,” Tony orders, voice deceptively quiet. Clint frowns, leans in and whispers something into the Alpha’s ear, but leaves peacefully.

As soon as the front door is closed behind Barton, Tony’s gaze switches to Q. His earlier anger is completely gone, strangely taking Q's with it, but the intensity is still there in his eyes. “Sorry, I should have cut him off sooner," he apologizes.

“Yes, you should have.” Q wonders how long Tony had been listening. “I didn’t need you to save me. Didn’t need saving," he reminds Tony, but his words sound flimsy now that he no longer has any anger to fuel him. "Also, he could’ve beat you in a fight if he had really wanted to.”

“Nothing will happen to you,” Tony promises, picking up James’ blanket from where it’s carefully folded at the foot of the bed and gently tucking it in around Q’s shoulders, which had been peeking out from under the comforter. The Alpha seats himself on the bed next to Q.

Q inhales James’ scent, lets it ground him and wash away the nausea of Barton’s words. “I’m not powerless, no matter what Barton says, and you can’t promise that,” he protests.

“I know, but I’ll try. You can make your upgrades to the suit. That way you’ll know no one can stop me,” the Alpha assures, sounding so earnest it aches. But then what would save him from Tony? Q stares at his soul mate. “Hm?” Tony asks. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize I was - “ Tony pulls away, gets off the bed, and Q feels a small sense of loss, missing the warmth of Tony’s hand was a moment ago. Q hadn’t even realized that Tony had been touching him; he’s that exhausted. 

“What did Barton say to you?” Q murmurs.

“‘You know I’m right.'"


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for potential triggers, including one that's new to this fic. Huh. List in the end notes.
> 
> Thanks very much to TriumphantDisaster's friend who stepped in and beta'd this chapter :).

Q wakes to a loud crash and even louder curses. He drags himself out of bed, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders and feeling not nearly as rested as he wants to be, only to find Tony Stark in his living room and his table cut into pieces. 

“I’ll replace it,” Tony promises.

Q closes his eyes and silently counts to three. “I told you, hands off the tech. Go to sleep.” Q tilts his head to indicate the guest room. “If you’re a good little Alpha I’ll show you my toys later before work.” That said, he shuffles back to bed and hopes for another two hours of sleep.

When he wakes again, there’s a warm body lying next to him. He startles into consciousness and -

“Shhh.”

Q sags in relief. James. “You came back,” Q whispers, folding himself into his husband’s embrace.

“You didn’t throw my nest gift away,” he replies, noncommittal.

“You’re my nest," Q says, feeling soppy and stupid.

“Not that ridiculous monstrosity you have back at MI6?” James chuckles, and Q can feel the way it vibrates throughout his frame. 

“Are you referring to yourself?”

“I’m just an old ship being hauled off for scrap.” Q opens his mouth, but James cuts off his protest before he can even start. “You haven’t signed the papers yet.”

“Neither have you,” Q points out.

“I will. Stark stayed the night. You like him?” 

“I need him. Not just because of my heats, but,” Q sighs. He doesn’t know how he feels about Stark. “He’s like a virus. Dangerous and unpredictable, but fascinating and I hate him for it but at the same time he’s - finding civilization after wandering around lost for years.” He’s not home, though. “I need you too.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I’ve been slipping more and more and you, you’re the only person I trust. I've barely managed to kiss Stark, let alone...” Q lazily waves in his hand in the air to signify "you know". He can’t help but find it hilarious - pathetic - that he had always prided himself on never depending on an Alpha and now finds himself needing two.

James kindly doesn’t point out that Q will be back to normal and everything will work out as soon as he goes into heat and fucks Tony. Instead, he says, without inflection, “I don’t think it’s an option.”

“For you or for him?” Q huffs, knowing he’s being unreasonable and acting like a brat. He hates himself for it. “Anyways, I have to head to MI6. 004 is deploying today and I have to be there. If you’re going dark again, at least leave a note.”

Q gets dressed, takes his suppressant, and checks on Tony. The Alpha is still sleeping so Q leaves him a note for a raincheck before leaving.

Strangely, his underlings don’t sniff at him when he walks in. R eyes him a little more than usual, but that’s it. Q wonders if Tyler talked to them. After sending 004 off with enough firepower to take out a small city he heads to his private office to watch the videos he had collected. Why wonder when he can actually find out?

The footage from yesterday is...interesting. There are some ugly words, as Q had expected, but for the most part they aren’t nearly as crude about Q’s private life as they would have been years ago, and quite a bit more respectful. A few actually seem genuinely interested in Q’s wellbeing. Huh. He wonders how he’d missed that. Q makes a note to learn their names after 004’s mission is over. He’ll have to thank Tyler.

\-------

Q opens his front door to the sight of James and Tony half wrestling, half making out on his couch. He almost drops his bag in - _shockarousalangerjealousyconfusion_ \- surprise.

James looks over his shoulder at the sound of the door opening. “Would you like to join us or are you just going to stand there?” 

And, oh. That’s why James is doing this. Of all the thing that Q thought he could’ve come home to, this had not been on the menu.

“As flattering as your staring is…” Tony trails off, waggling his eyebrows, barely visible from underneath James.

Q hesitantly takes a step forward. James sighs and stands, taking Q's hand. “Trust me,” he whispers, leaning close so Tony can’t hear. “You said I was safe; it might be easier for you to get to know him if I’m there. You can say no if this isn’t what you meant. Tony understands.”

Q nods, allows himself to be led to the coach because he’s not stupid and doesn’t need to be persuaded. The picture he had walked in on was persuasive enough.

“Only if you want to,” Tony assures. 

“You two talked behind my back,” Q accuses, though he can’t really complain if this is the result.

James smiles, so small that it’s only really perceptible to the select few who know him. It’s the only warning Q gets before James pulls Q onto the couch and brackets him with his legs. “You’re trembling,” James observes, running his hands down Q’s sides as if he can smooth out the shivers. Tony is watching, sitting crisscrossed and facing them, knees touching Q's. Tony’s lips are slightly chapped, James’ doing no doubt, and Q wonders how long they were at it, waiting for him.

Q leans forward, James holding him at the waist in case he overbalances, and brushes Tony’s lips. “You’re okay with this?”

Q _feels_ rather than sees Tony’s smile. “You’re joking right? It makes you happy and James isn’t too terrible on the eyes. I mean, I’m pretty jealous,” Tony runs his fingers over Q’s cardigan where his name is on the skin underneath - either unconsciously or to emphasize his point - “but I’m trying to get it.”

Q kisses Tony again, tries to convey his thanks, his joy that he gets to have this, have both of them. Behind him, James is a solid, comforting presence. 

“Aren’t you too old to be so shy?” James jokes, apparently remembering the first time they had kissed. Q pulls away from Tony to turn and glare at his husband. This, in turn, causes Tony to glare at James as well.

“I am not shy,” Q says hotly.

“Really? Because Stark isn’t too bad with his tongue so-”

“I told you, it’s To-”

“You frenched my soulmate before I did?” Q asks, envious as all and not entirely sure who he’s envious of. 

“You had plenty of opportunities. Besides, half the world has,” James drawls, looking smug.

“More like .000001% and one extraterrestrial,” Tony corrects.

Both Brits turn their gazes at him, temporarily lost for words. “Well, ah, that wasn’t in the movie?” Q hedges awkwardly just to break the silence, wondering if it was Loki or Thor.

“Just saying, I’m a pretty hot commodity. You should probably lay your claim now.”

Q smirks and gives Tony a blatant once-over. “How do you propose I do that?”

James huffs into the curls atop Q’s head, apparently unimpressed with Q’s seduction skills. Hilarious considering some of the shit Q has heard him say during missions. But before Q can point that out, James is leaning forward around Q and - 

Plunging his hands into Tony’s hair and kissing him within an inch of his life, two inches away from Q.

Q’s breath catches and he’s torn between watching them and splitting them apart so he can kiss them himself. He’s still frozen with indecision when James breaks the kiss, rolls his eyes, and grabs Q by the back of his neck to guide him and Tony together. 

Q would protest being manhandled, but then Tony is on his knees, one hand on the back of Q’s neck, the other tracing his collarbone, and doing something with his tongue that makes Q think that all those hussies that kissed Tony before definitely weren’t just doing it for his money. Q breaks the kiss to take a shuddery breath because he’s _dizzy_ and-

Tony’s tongue peeks out, licking his lips, and Tony is half on top of Q, pushing Q’s back into James’ chest. Q has only half a second to gather his wits before Tony’s mouth is on him again, this time not on his lips but his jaw. The Alpha presses a few soft kisses along his jawline before making his way down Q’s neck, biting and sucking in a way that’s guaranteed to leave marks as he goes, stubble scraping against Q’s sensitive skin.

Q arches his neck and holds onto Tony’s shoulders, which turn out to be hard, wonderfully muscular shoulders. He needs to get his hands on Tony _yesterday_. “Shirt,” Q gasps, the word coming out more like a plea than a command.

“Whose?” James asks, already pushing up the hem of Q’s shirt, palms huge against Q’s small frame.

“Tony’s, mine, yours,” Q manages around hitched breaths; Tony is taking advantage of the skin that James had exposed and James’ scent is so thick that Q can taste the sweetness of it on his tongue. It takes everything Q has to remember what words even are. 

Tony stops and Q whines, arches his back, demanding attention.

“I’m just taking my shirt off like you wanted,” Tony chuckles, voice husky and deep enough for Q to drown in. Tony makes a show of it, leaning back, sitting on his heels, and spreading his knees in what must be a stripper pose. Q watches, hopelessly mesmerized as hard planes of muscle - not defined like James’ but gorgeous in their own right - are slowly revealed. Then his vision is filled with a dazzling bright blue and Q _doesn’t understand_. “Later,” Tony promises, leaning down and pecking Q on the lips. 

It’s meant to be a short, light kiss, but Q latches on to Tony’s bottom lip when the Alpha tries to pull away, pulls him back by the waist, wanting the hot press of Tony’s skin against his. 

James helps, rearranging them, lifting Q into his lap so that Tony is no longer leaning over Q and instead, Q is pressed between them.

Q wriggles to get comfortable, but James tightens his grip around Q’s waist. Q almost asks why, but then he realizes what he’d been doing. He bites his lip, blushing and feeling far too warm. He squirms a little in embarrassment and James bites his neck as punishment, which just makes it even worse. Tony grins, presses against Q, and rolls his hips in imitation, except it seems far more purposefully seductive and much less desperate when Tony does it. Q moans, and Tony must take that as an invitation because he’s kissing Q again, this time with his hands against Q’s bare skin and his muscles flexing under Q’s touch.

Q melts into the touches, lets himself get swept up in them. He's drowning in Tony and James, the Alphas overwhelming all of his senses. In the back of his mind, he misses, longs for, Tony's scent. 

“Good boy,” James whispers in Q’s ear. Q stiffens, abruptly broken from the haze he'd been in.

_Such a good boy for us, aren’t you? You’d do whatever we’d tell you to. Won't tell anyone. So good, so sweet -_

He pushes against Tony’s chest and scrambles off James’ lap, barely making it to the bathroom in time before he vomits. What the hell is he doing acting like a slut, a mindless little plaything, happy to be passed between them? He’s not even in heat. Q heaves again, the vile feeling of his lunch making its way up his esophagus a welcome reminder that this is _wrong wrong wrong_.

The second his heaves turn dry, he shakily stands and closes the bathroom door in James and Tony’s worried faces and locks it. “Go away. I’m fine.”

He starts the shower, plugging the drain, and rinses out his mouth as he waits for it to become scalding hot, shivering from the cold sweat that clings to his skin. Then he curls up under the spray and watches the water slowly rise. There’s pounding on the door, the handle shaking violently. Q startles and has to remind himself that it’s reinforced and not going to break down. There are hushed, angry whispers, and then the pounding stops and they’re walking away from the door.

It was just James and Tony. James and Tony, Q tells himself, wiping at his eyes. James, his husband, and Tony, his soul mate. James has used that endearment plenty of times before. They weren’t doing anything wrong. Nothing bad had happened. They didn’t even touch him below the waist, for bloody fuck’s sake. 

Q wants to scream in frustration, but that would probably bring James and Tony to burning down the door. Can’t hit anything either. Anything would be better than crying. He scrubs at his skin violently instead. He doesn’t feel dirty, but it’s better than clawing at his skin like he wants to. What they did wasn’t even that different from the time he’d kissed James in front of Alec. He hates this stupid body of his, wants to tear himself out of it.

He’s supposed to trust James. James is safe; he would’ve stopped anything from going too far. Tony wouldn’t have done anything to hurt Q. Q had enjoyed it. Truly wanted it. Q scrubs harder, skin turning an angry red. It isn’t enough.

Q gives in to the urge to tear at himself, sinks his nails into his skin almost so deep that they draw blood. Fuck Clint for saying that it hadn’t been his fault when it was. Fuck John and Charles, Andrew and Alderene. Fuck it all. 

Q is panting from exertion by the time he comes back to himself. His torso and arms are littered with raised lines. 

Fuck them for winning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential triggers: minor self harm, sex things


	45. Chapter 45

There’s a soft knock on the door. Q thinks he hears his name whispered, but he’s not sure.

He glances up and tries to take stock. He has no idea how much time has passed. The water has gone cold; he doesn’t even remember turning the shower off after the tub had filled. It must have been a while ago because he’s shivering, violently and nothing at all like when he’d been in James’ arms.

Q pulls himself out of the tub, wraps a towel around himself, and unlocks the door.

He doesn’t look up as the door slowly swings open. He swallows the lump in his throat, eyes still feeling damp. “I’m fucked up,” he rasps, the words pushing themselves out of his mouth before he can swallow them down.

“Q,” Tony breathes. Q looks up in surprise. He’d thought it would be James.“Is it, is it okay if I touch you?” the Alpha asks hesitantly.

Q nods and hopes he isn’t lying. “It wasn’t your fault. I liked what we were doing.” Tony hesitantly takes a step forward and his hand hovers over Q’s shoulder, fingertips barely grazing him. Tony’s hand is trembling, or that might just be Q’s shivering.

Tony’s touch gradually turns more sure, and then in a rush Tony’s hand slides from Q’s shoulder to his back and Q is enveloped in a hug, Tony clinging on to him like he’s worried Q is going to disappear. Q can’t return the gesture, his hands clutching the towel around him, but he rests the side of his head against Tony’s.

Down the hallway he can see James and a half empty bottle next to him. James returns his gaze, guilt written into his features. It hits Q like a blunt weapon to the skull, why it hadn’t been James who had knocked.

Vesper. He’d been terrified of what he might find. Q’s knees give out under him. Tony tightens his hold, keeping Q upright.

“It’s not your fault. You should’ve picked the lock. I’m sorry,” Q mouths. Tony must have talked him out of it. James shakes his head. “Come here?” He pleads, out loud this time. James twitches upright, but stops short of standing. “Please?”

James starts to cross the room when Q realizes, _his arms_. Q guiltily clutches the towel around himself tighter, praying James doesn’t see the marks. It’s nothing bad: he might’ve barely broken skin in a few places, but James would overreact.

Tony lets go of Q and he feels adrift for a moment before he’s safely ensconced in James’ embrace. “I’m sorry,” Q whispers, nuzzling James neck , trying to both comfort James and gain some comfort from the Alpha’s scent, but the normal vanilla is buried under an unpleasant haze of grief, guilt, worry, and rage. “I’m so screwed up,” he mumbles.

“We’ll manage,” James assures. “Go get dressed and warmed up. I’ll bring you some hot tea.”

Tony walks with Q to his bedroom, stopping outside the door. “Do you want to be alone?”

Q shakes his head. If there’s a door between them he might be tempted to lock it again; he wants to be alone, but he’s also...not scared, but he probably shouldn’t be left to his own thoughts any longer.

“You can’t look though,” Q states as Tony enters and Q closes the door behind him. It’s a calculated risk, trusting Tony to not turn and see exactly how much Q lost control of himself. “Face the door.”

“Promise.”

Q watches Tony’s back the whole time he changes, not that he can even see that clearly now that it’s dark and neither of them turned the lights on. True to his word, the Alpha doesn’t turn his head a single centimeter. The only movement that Tony makes is a nervous tic, the drumming of his fingers against his leg.

“It’s safe now,” Q says, partly to himself, sitting on the bed in his pajama pants and a long sleeve shirt.

Tony crosses the room, picks up the towel Q had discarded, and sits behind Q. “What was going through that mind of yours?” He asks as he starts carefully toweling Q’s hair.

“They didn’t coerce me.” Q wants to make that clear. Tony pauses for a moment and Q tenses, readying himself for a fight that he has no energy for.

“Okay,” Tony agrees, sounding completely honest.

“But,” Q starts before Tony can changes his mind. “They used me. And I let them.”

There’s a knock on the door and a moment later, James is walking in. He places the cup, on a dish so nobody gets burnt, in Q’s hands. Tony either deems Q’s hair to be dry or doesn’t want to jostle him while he’s holding hot tea because the Alpha stops massaging Q’s scalp and sets the towel on the floor.

“Part of me wanted them to use me. It’d been a fantasy of mine.” The most prevalent one during his formative years. Q takes a sip of tea. It’s too hot to taste, burns the roof of his mouth, his tongue. His eyes water from the sting, but not from tears and it’s a welcome feeling so he takes another sip. He closes his eyes and imagines it washing down the shame.

“You know we don’t th-”

“Of course I know that,” Q huffs. “I’m not blind and stupid. It’s just impossible to always act rationally.” It’s maddeningly frustrating. Q’s cup rattles loudly against its plate and he realizes with a start that he’d clenched his hand into a fist.

“Hey, it’s okay. I think I get it. Wanting to feel like you’re good? That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Tony comforts, unwrapping Q’s fingers from where he’d been gripping the cup too tightly. “We all want to feel wanted.” Tony takes the teacup out of Q’s hands and tilts his head toward the headboard. James has propped up the pillows and pulled down the covers. Tony presses a kiss to the top of Q’s head, but doesn’t crawl under the covers with him and James, sitting on the edge of the bed instead, a hand on Q’s thigh over the comforter. Q furrows his brow. “I don’t want you to feel penned in,” Tony explains.

Q shakes his head. “It’s fine. And you don’t get it.  I don’t care if some Alpha thinks I’m a good sweet little Omega or-”

The look in Tony’s eyes stops Q mid-sentence. Tony’s lips are upturned at the corner in a small, self-deprecating smile. “I know.”

All the articles Q has read about Tony spring to the forefront of his mind: someone who obviously doesn’t care what anybody ever says about him, does as he pleases and damns anyone who disapproves. Q thinks about all the gadgets Tony made just for him, Nono, Dummy and the other bots, how Tony risks his life instead of just remotely controlling the Iron Man suit, the man who was trying to get to the bottom of a bottle the other morning. Q looks at the Alpha crawling under the covers next to him and realizes with stunned certainty the world could not be more wrong about Tony. This is who Tony is at his core. This is why Tony hasn’t given up on Q when he could’ve had almost anyone else, why it hurt Tony so much when Q denied him. The man in the tabloids that’s all abrasive wit and carefree charm is just extra. That Tony thinks, _knows_ , that Q is like him…

Q swallows the lump in his throat and presses closer to his soul mate. James tucks Q’s blanket around them and whispers, “I’ll leave you two to it. I’ll be around.” He closes the door behind him when he leaves.

“You are good though. One of the best. You don’t need anyone to tell you that,” Q says. “I’m not. Never will be. I don’t care - don’t want to care - what anyone else thinks. Most of the world is full of unintelligent, backwards plebeians.”

“Good men have died because of me,” Tony counters.

“Lived, too. That’s war. New York is still standing because of you.”

“It doesn’t work that way.” He wraps a hand around Q’s shoulder, tugs him closer until Q’s head is resting against Tony’s shoulder. It’s a position that’ll surely become uncomfortable after a while, but Q doesn’t feel the urge to pull away like he would have just a few days before.

“No, it doesn’t,” Q agrees. “But it still counts for something.”

“You don’t have to be good for the world,” Tony murmurs.

“I can’t be good for you. Wasn’t good for James. Alec, either.”

“You already are.”

“I threw a knife at you,” Q points out, though just a night ago he’d argued to Clint that he’d thrown the knife at the couch.

“Past me.” Tony idly strokes the edge of Q’s blanket with his thumb as silence falls over them. “What was it that made it bad?” Tony asks a few minutes later, shattering the peace.

“You can probably guess.”       

“I figure it’s best if I don’t assume,” Tony half-jokes. “Wouldn’t want you to have to get up and find a knife.”

“Who says I’d have to get up?” Q replies, nudging Tony lightly so that the Alpha knows he’s only half-serious. When Tony doesn’t respond Q sighs, realizing that Tony is willing is wait for as long as Q could possibly stall. “They didn’t mean it. They just said it to manipulate me into doing what they wanted. And I made it so easy for them. Besides, if I were to be good, I’d be good for so much more than just that.”

“Obadiah Stane was more of a father to me than my actual dad,” Tony confesses. “To him I was just a convenient way to control Stark Industries.”

“He tried to kill you.”

“I stopped being convenient. And it’s more like he left me for dead so he could take over Stark Industries and when I came back alive he ripped the arc reactor out of my chest.”

Q blinks. “I don’t think that’s quite the same scale as what happened to me,” he comments wryly. “Wait, that thing in your chest is an arc reactor?” Q abruptly turns, displacing his blanket and Tony’s hands, and pulls Tony’s shirt up to get a second look. He runs his fingers over the edges of the arc reactor. The metal is body temperature despite how it shines cold blue. “Can you feel it?” Q asks.

 “Whoah there. If I’d known all I had to do to get you excited about seeing me shirtless is that I have an arc reactor, I would’ve done that ages ago.”

Q springs backwards, face turning bright red as he realizes what he'd just done. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t say I minded,” Tony grins, taking his shirt off. “And not really.”

Q looks up at Tony. “Why are you trusting me with this? After what Stane did…” Q marvels.

“Because I know you won’t hurt me, not like this.”

Q wonders if it means Tony stupidly trusts him or if he means that he knows Q needs him for his heat. Knowing Tony, it’s probably a mix of both. As he traces the scarring around the arc reactor he wonders how much he’ll hurt Tony in other ways, how much Tony is expecting it, which kind of pain would be worse. "Why?"

"Shrapnel. From one of the weapons Obadiah sold on the black market. This stops it from -"

"Moving closer to your heart," Q finishes.

"Did you feel it?" Tony asks.

Q nods. "I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for you. Sometimes I swore I could feel something in my chest too." Despite the circumstances under which the reactor was put in Tony's chest and the grotesque idea that part of Tony had to be cut out so it could be installed... "It's beautiful."

Tony hums noncommittally and Q can feel the sound as it travels through his sternum. Q flushes as he remembers that the arc reactor is a part of Tony. His soul mate. His _shirtless_ soul mate. Who is brilliant, handsome, and almost as fucked up as he is.

And not James. But James is okay with it and Tony is okay with it and Q really has no reason to not -

“Q?” Q startles, jerked out of his thoughts. Tony’s hand wraps around his, presses it against chest above where arc reactor rests. Tony’s heart is beating rapidly underneath his palm. Q is sure that Tony can feel how fast Q’s is beating as well; the pad of the Alpha’s ring finger is resting over his artery, his hands so much larger than Q’s. “Can I-”

Q leans forward and cuts Tony off, swallowing his words. He hates being treated with kids gloves, that they think he needs them (that he does need them). Q briefly breaks the kiss to settle himself on top of Tony, hooking a leg around the Alpha’s waist. “Ya.”

Tony’s free hand slides onto Q’s back, keeping him balanced as Tony presses his lips against Q’s. There’s no love in the kiss, but it burns with the frisson of a million possibilities and Tony is kissing him as if he holds the key to each and every one of them. It tastes like hope.

Q leans backwards, trying to tug Tony down with him, but his Alpha keeps them both upright. “C’mon,” Q orders, extracting himself from Tony’s hold and lying on his back. He extends an arm out in invitation.

“Oh,” Tony says, seeming to finally comprehend.

“Ya,” Q ascertains. When Tony doesn’t come closer he raises an eyebrow. “You coming?”

Tony nods, but rather than prowling atop Q, Tony flops on the bed beside him and wraps an arm around his waist. Q rolls so he’s facing Tony, but before he can do anything, Tony turns away. “It’s been a long day and we’re both emotionally compromised,” he explains.

“I’m pretty sure we’ll always be emotionally compromised. Isn’t that what being soul mates means?”

“Not like this.”

“You started it,” Q points out.

“Sorry. I just meant to kiss you, but then you were in my lap - not that I’m complaining it was just bad timing - and you’d probably hate me in the morning if we didn’t stop here.”

“Really,” Q says challengingly.

“Emotionally exhausted, trying to prove something, going too far too soon? I’m not putting words in your mouth here. Just, I went to college too and it never ends well.”

“But you’re an Alpha.”

Tony stares at the ceiling. “Doesn’t mean I wasn’t a dumb kid. Sure, things were little different; I enjoyed it then, but it fucked me up in the long run.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Same reason you did.”

Q recalls Clint’s words. _Tony has his own problems. He doesn’t need yours too._ “Are you sure you want this? I know you always really wanted to find your soul mate, but sometimes fantasy is better left just that.” He shouldn’t be saying this, shouldn’t be giving a Tony a way out because he needs Tony, but he’s been unfair and selfish enough already, hasn’t he?

Tony shifts, turning to face Q once more then tucking Q’s head under his chin. “I don’t know,” he confesses and Q’s heart clenches. “I do, but you want me to fix you and I can’t do that for you. People can’t fix people no matter how hard they try or how much they want to.”

Q opens to mouth to protest, but he can’t dispute what Tony’s saying. That is essentially what Q is asking of him. To fix him. “I’m working on it," he promises for what feels like that tenth time in a quarter so many days. "You’re good for me,” Q says and it’s true, but it’s also dirty pool. "I want this.”

“Ya?”

Q nods. “Stay the night? It’s been a long day.”

“I have nightmares sometimes.”

“Well, you’ve already seen mine.” Q nudges Tony to release him so that he can fix the pillows and get comfortable. Tony gets off the bed though, which is not what Q intended.

“I’m just going to brush my teeth then come back. If you're already asleep by then, goodnight.”

“Okay.” Q sets his alarm then curls up around James’ blanket. He’s half asleep when Tony returns, quietly sliding into the bed in front of him. The Alpha sets a hand on top of Q’s, which is peeking out from under the bundle of blanket that he’s cuddling.

“Sweet dreams, Q."


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to TriumphantDisaster for beta'ing!

Q decidedly does not start seeing a counselor, therapist, shrink, medical professional, or anything of the sort. He does, however, delegate all of his duties that aren’t immediately vital to Tyler, which gives him mornings off, barring national emergencies, for the next week or so. (He may or may not delegate all of Tyler’s normal, more menial duties, to R.)

Q wakes early, before his alarm, unused to sharing a bed with anyone that doesn’t sleep like a killer. Tony’s soft exhalations disturb his rest more than he’d thought they would. Alec and James both sleep like the dead, except for the fact that they can wake in a third of a second and snap a man’s neck in about the same amount of time. Tony has creeped closer in his sleep, cuddling James’ blanket with Q and after Q extracts himself from the bed he has to resist the urge to snort at how ridiculous the image is. Instead, he silently takes a picture with his phone before padding out into the hallway. James’ shoes are still at the front door, so he’s presumably in the guest room. Q exhales a breath that he hasn't realized he’d been holding.

He spends his extra time calling Alec. He doesn’t spill his guts and Alec doesn’t say “I told you so.” Things are going well enough in America, although apparently there’s a superpowered mop-headed teenager who keeps swinging through open windows in the Tower and aggravating Bruce Banner, of all people. Which, huh. On the bright side, it seems that Steve Rogers goes hard when he doesn’t go home, trailblazing through the media as if he's a one man movement. Q is just asking Alec if he's banged Steve yet - or the other way around - when James appears from the guest room.

“Living vicariously?” James asks, not unkindly, creeping up behind Q. “Your room was pretty quiet last night.”

Alec must hear because he whistles lowly. Q says his goodbyes, promising to call Alec back later and no he is not going to tell him what James meant by that, stop prying, and hangs up. “We just talked. I kissed him, but he stopped it before it could go any further even though he said he wants me?”

“In so many words?” James asks, looking very judgmentally unimpressed for someone in his boxers. Q nods. “Tell me you didn’t bloody just ask him like that.” Q shrugs. “Christ. I’m glad I missed that conversation. You couldn’t tell?”

“He was sending mixed signals,” Q defends. James shakes his head and makes for the coffee pot. “Thank you for talking to him and sorry about messing it up.”

“Seeing as he stayed the night, you can’t have messed it up that bad.”

“Hopefully. What’d you say to him anyways?”

Speak of the devil and he will appear, Tony pops out of Q’s room. “Top secret. Did I hear a coffee machine? Also, it’s rude to ask me to stay the night then leave me to wake alone. Just for future reference.”

“You exhale noticeably in your sleep.”

“You said you’re okay with nightmares, but you can’t handle the fact that I breathe? I don’t even snore.”

Q shrugs.

\-------

The next few days pass peacefully despite the rocky start, Tony, Q, and James splitting their time between work, Q’s house, and Tony’s tower, which Clint is auspiciously absent from. Q only gets called in for an emergency once.

They watch movies and make out on the sofa, play video games, and argue over stupid things like how much tensile strength should be sacrificed for flexibility for the gag superhero suit that Q is making Alec for the Beta’s birthday. Q advocates for only sacrificing it in joint areas. After all, it's for Alec, not the Black Widow. Q eventually wins, but has to concede to letting Tony putting a tramp stamp star on it. “It’s a gag gift, Q. Besides, Cap will turn bright red when he sees it. Oh man, we should get Cap to design it. If you’re okay with that. Cap is an artist.”

Sure, their arguments (or more like their consequent compromises and settlements) occasionally lead to property damage - “See? I told you the bullet would ricochet” - and the video games are really modified training simulations wherein they’re using safe-modified weapons instead of remote controls - James somehow always wins even though Tony and Q cheat by modifying their gear mid-battle - and their make out sessions always stay above the waist and one time Q gets nauseous and they have to stop. Still, it’s all overwhelmingly normal. It’s like the silly teenage romance none of them had. It’s nice.

It’s also incredibly, incredibly frustrating. Q’s libido, pretty absent from almost the entire last decade of his life, decides to reappear. This is the first time in a long time that Q has wanted to have, well, not sex, he’s not ready for that, but he does want to climb Tony like a tree and Tony won’t even initiate a kiss, stops Q with a hand on his wrist if Q ever dares to take off his shirt. He doesn’t even let Q take off his _own_ shirt, which Q would be very offended by - yes he isn’t muscular like them but he isn’t ugly and he knows for a fact that Tony likes seeing his name on Q’s skin no matter how scarred up it is - if it weren’t for the fact that he could feel Tony’s cock, hard because of him, right under his ass. Well, for the short second that Q is on Tony’s lap before Tony calls things to a _grinding_ halt.

Sure, Tony constantly touches Q, little pats on the shoulder, a hand on his back, ruffles his hair, things like that, but that’s it. It’s starting to feel condescending even though Q supposes Tony is doing it out of respect or some poorly misguided, though honorable intention. Q would be slightly embarrassed about the way he’s almost throwing himself at Tony, except he’s been working on telling himself that there’s nothing to be ashamed of and it’s not as if Tony isn’t just as interested as he is. Also, it’s not as if James or Tony are any better, the two of them sometimes creeping off without him after Q slams himself into his own room. Alone. He hasn’t been this horny since he was sixteen, if ever.

James must notice Q’s frustration, which okay, maybe he wasn’t too subtle, climbing over Tony for the remote and picking more fights than usual for an excuse to wrestle, because after Tony and Q fall off the couch for the third time in one afternoon he suggests that they spar. He also starts giving Q detailed accounts so he can live vicariously through him. Q is pretty sure it’s the only time James has written an after-action report in his whole MI6 career.

Sparring is pretty much torture. And it becomes a daily routine thanks to James. Tony keeps wearing thin wifebeaters that become translucent from sweat thirty minutes in. James sits out, but he inserts unhelpful comments and spends the whole time staring at them in a way that implies he’s imagining them rolling around in his sheets rather than the sparring mat. Literally rolling around, as James has decided that they should both learn proper wrestling moves. When Q will ever have to use a camel clutch he has no clue, but it involves a lot of straddling. Still though, Tony’s resolve doesn’t seem to waver, at least not around Q. Around James is a different matter, if the amount of reports James gives Q is any indication.

“I give up. No point in throwing myself at him. I’m not that desperate,” Q mutters into James’ neck. Tony is in some call with the Avengers so they have Tony’s living room to themselves.

James hums sympathetically. “He’s just as frustrated as you.” Q peers up at his friend. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

“Well I’m glad _you’re_ enjoying it. I feel like an idiot. I can’t believe you’ve frenched him and fucked him before I have.”

James runs his fingers through Q’s hair. “Only blowjobs, you know that. And don’t. Flirtatious is a cute look on you. Although, the words ‘cat in heat’ come in mind.”

Q flushes, half embarrassed, half angry. “Like you’re one to talk.” He replays the past few days through his mind. “I wasn’t that bad, was I?” He’d been telling himself that it was okay to be attracted to his mate, but if he’d been acting like a _slut_ …

“Q, he’s your soulmate. You’re practically a virgin and you’ve just rediscovered your sex drive. Hell, he’s the second Alpha you’ve ever kissed. Most people, myself included, would have tried a damn lot harder than you have. You’re fine. Tony’s going as crazy as you. We all are. He wants you so badly, but he’s scared to hurt you again.”

“He doesn’t get to make that decision.”

“He’s the other half of it.”

“If you cut him off dry I could seduce him into it. He’s supposed to be renowned for his lack of self control,” Q suggests.

“That’s not the point. Maybe just take a step back? Not too big a step, we don’t want him to think you’re disinterested. Just enough to let him know you’re serious about him and not just his assets.”

Q blinks. “I’m not interested in his money.” James chuckles and pecks Q on the forehead. Then he reaches down and squeezes Q’s ass. Q nearly jumps out of his lap in surprise. Q glares at James. “What the - oh.” Those assets. “That was still unecessary.”

“I know,” James says, still looking smug. “Stop pouting or else I won’t tell you what I have planned for Saturday.”

“Another stupid wrestling move?” Q drawls, words dripping with sarcasm. He is not pouting.

“You’ll see.”

James’ surprise turns out to be a date, James somehow roping Eve into getting them wigs and putting makeup on them so nobody will recognize Q or Tony. Q has no idea what number date this is, if the previous few days counted, and wonders if Tony has been keeping track or doesn’t care anymore. While James planned the date, as he knows all of the best places, Q spends the day pointing out all the key spots they drive by to Tony.

“That’s the cafe I was in when the Mandarin attacked your house and you almost died. It’s actually because of that that Alec and I became friends.”

“So technically, I’m the reason that Steve and Alec are together.”

“You kind of already were...Over there is my old apartment. M broke into my house after I hacked into MI6 one too many times - I still have no idea how she figured out where I lived I mean I was untraceable. I was signing my soul over when I think you started going into cardiac arrest. It was the second time that had happened I think...

That’s the dentist’s office I told you about… Over there is a restaurant that I’d been eating with Alec in when I found out you had paid a surprise visit to London. We dashed out of there before our food arrived. Oh, I almost forgot to point out the…”

By the time it’s nightfall and time for dinner at whatever overpriced restaurant James booked them they have brand new suits - because apparently James thought it was vital that Tony experience the magic of Forrestier’s hands and Q reluctantly has to admit that they both look dashing in their new suits even despite the fact that Tony makes a horrible redhead - and Tony is slumping in the backseat next to Q.

“We could go home if you’re tired, order in,” Q offers, unsure why Tony hadn’t said anything.

“I’m not tired,” Tony huffs. Q’s eyebrows shoot up at Tony’s angry tone. Q had thought he’d been having fun. Q had been having fun. Tony sighs at this. “Christ, Q. You spent the whole day pointing out places where you were when I almost died and regaling me with stories about how I fucked up your life. If you want to say something just say it.”

Oh. Q hadn’t thought of it like that. “I just wanted to show you London,”

“Most people pick out their favorite spots,” James says wryly from the driver’s seat, apparently siding with Tony.

“I did. We went to the gallery where I first met you. And the cafe where we had our fake date. I like those places,” Q says. Tony turns to face the window and James looks at Q via the driver’s mirror, giving him a disappointed look. Q sags. “I don’t have many favorite spots. My life has always revolved around work. The only reason I remember these places are because of you so I just thought...” _I’d share them with you, that you’d like to know that my life has sort of always revolved around you ever since your name appeared, that every time I pass by one of these places I think about you._ Q trails off when he realizes that Tony isn’t reacting to what he’s saying. “Nevermind,” he mumbles to himself, turning to stare out his own window and trying to ignore the sting of rejection.

“We are going to Le Gavroche, which happens to be near impossible to get a reservation at last minute unless you’re the prime minister, and you two are going to stop acting like children before we walk in,” James orders as he pulls up in front of the restaurant. He’s exaggerating though, you don’t have to be any notoriety to get a reservation. You just have to be able to hack into their system, give yourself a reservation, and e-mail an apologetic note to whomever you cut out.

They exit the car - Q pointedly opens his door himself before anyone can even dare try to be chivalrous - James handing the keys to a valet. The hostess leads them to a private, u-shaped booth in a corner. It has a good vantage point of the restaurant from one side of it. James, of course, sits on the side that surveys the rest of the restaurant. Q settles in the curve of the booth, hidden from the rest of the restaurant. He lays down, resting his head on James’ thigh. The hostess is professional enough that she doesn’t blink twice at their odd party.

“Will you be ordering for your Omega then?” She asks politely, not looking directly at Tony nor James as to avoid a faux paus.

Q considers pointing out that she could ask him herself seeing as he’s right here, but she’s just following societal conventions. He settles for correcting her. “I’m not anyone’s.” Can’t be James’ and Tony, despite all his pretty words about them belonging to each other, doesn’t even want to hear about their places.

James, who had been stroking Q’s hair, lightly tugs on a strand in warning. “But I will be ordering for him. Thank you.”

James and Tony spend ages debating over wines with the waitress before finally settling on two different bottles and ordering the rest of their food. Q zones out during the conversation, closing his eyes and just enjoying the coziness of the booth and James.

“I’m going to to the washroom,”James says after the hostess leaves.

“I need to go as well,” Q lies.

“I was giving you time alone to sort things out with him,” James whispers once they’re out of hearing distance.

“Well I didn’t want to be alone with him. I don’t know why you sided with him.”

James sighs. “I wasn’t siding with him, but he had a point.”

“You’re getting along with him pretty well. You can have him. The two of you have a lot of common. A love of expensive suits, alcohol, sex, cars -”

James wraps his arms around Q. “You.”Q huffs but melts into the embrace nonetheless. “I know why you did it, but he doesn’t. You’ve spent a lot of time together the past few days, but you’ve only known each other for so long. He probably thought you were being an asshole.”

“He’s the asshole. I’m not apologizing.”

“Q,” his husband admonishes.

“I’m not.”

“Well, I’m not going to fix it for you. I’m not even your Alpha, after all.”

“No, you’re too scared to be,” Q snaps. James lets go of him. If the Double-O were the type to flinch, he would have. Q softens a bit, clasps James’ hand. James doesn't deserve for Q to take his anger out on him, especially after everything he has done. “You are mine, though. Don’t you ever forget that.”

“Bossy little shite. I’m still not going to let you cuddle me for an excuse to not talk to Stark.”

When they return to the table Q avoids eye contact with Tony and doesn’t speak, letting James fill the silence with small talk, mostly about the wine. Notably, neither of the bottles are reds. Q wonders if James perhaps told Tony about his dislike of them. He should've listened more carefully earlier.

He also shouldn’t have let James order for him. It’s not the food, no, when it arrives everything from the steak with a ridiculously fancy name to the pastries and cheeses looks amazing and smells twice as good.

The problem is that the waitress didn’t give him any utensils. Q inwardly sighs and waits for James to cut into his pork cheek. As James lifts his fork, Q leans forward and carefully intercepts the morsel. James pretty much holds still for him once he realizes what Q is doing, which helps.

Q’s bad mood evaporates as the meat melts on his tongue. His vocal chords release a small purr, but he’s too content to even care. When another morsel doesn’t appear in front of his lips after he swallows, he lazily opens his eyes to look at James accusingly.

“You could’ve just asked for a fork and knife.”

"More," Q demands, ignoring him. He licks a stray drop of sauce off his lips and scoots closer, bringing his plate with him. “Please?”

“If I feed you, I’m doing it by hand. It’s much easier,” James intones. It’s a bet and they both know it. Q has never let James feed him before, by hand or otherwise.

Q darts a quick glance at Tony. He’s watching them intently. “How do you want me?” Being hand-fed isn’t exactly degrading; he let Alec do it once and it wasn’t too bad, though it took forever for them to finish their meal which is why they never did it again.

James narrows his eyes, catching on to Q’s game. “On my lap.” In full sight of anyone who looks their way.

Q climbs into James’ lap as gracefully as he can, which is not gracefully at all. He sits sideways so he doesn’t have to look at everyone even if they can see him. Once he’s settled, James gets to cutting everything into small pieces. The Double-O makes quick work of both plates, hands moving deftly. Q lingers on the sight of James’ fingers wrapped around the knife as the Alpha cuts everything into perfect pieces.

“Really, Q?” James chuckles into his ear, giving the knife a twirl before setting it down. “I should’ve known.”

Q shivers a bit and opens his mouth to retort that James has no room to talk, but James knows him all too well and pops a small cube of steak into Q’s mouth sooner than he can say anything. James traces Q’s bottom lip and Q kisses his fingertips after swallowing. James feeds him at a perfect pace, occasionally lifting a glass of wine to Q’s lips. He feels bubbly and floaty; he feels _good_. He purrs - on purpose this time - vocalising his happiness as he chases James’ fingers for his next bite. James pulls away the second Q comes into contact, toying with him twice and even bopping him on the nose once before finally letting Q have the final piece of steak. Q savors it then licks the last bits of sauce off the pads of James’ fingers. Underneath the rich sauce he can taste vanilla, sweet and heady.

“You missed a spot,” James teases affectionately, slowly pulling his fingers away. Q isn’t sure what he means though, his hands are clean. Before he can ask, James kisses the corner of his mouth. “Messy eater.” Q smiles at his husband’s antics, snuggling a little closer.

A loud screeching noise of knife against glass shatters the moment. Q and James both turn towards the source of it. Tony is practically seething, frustration written in the lines of his face. Q bites his lip, feeling guilty even though he should be angry. The billionaire has no right to be angry, to ruin James and Q’s good time.

"Q, I'd like to eat too and you ate all my food. Why don't you go over to Tony while I order more?" James suggests.

Q slides off James’ lap, feeling betrayed and suddenly vulnerable. He can’t help but hunch in his seat a little as he steels himself for the inevitable rejection. He takes a peek at Tony’s face, but doesn’t get a good look because he averts his gaze too quickly, afraid of being caught.

The hostess pops up and James orders a few more plates. When he asks Q if he’s still hungry, Q nods without looking up. Despite the butterflies rolling around in his stomach he’s still starving. James requests what is practically a feast, the whole dessert menu included, and the hostess darts away. The whole exchange feels as if it lasts an eternity, Stark silent and none of them moving. Right after the hostess disappears from sight Q realizes that he should’ve asked her for some silverware and avoided having to wait for Stark’s answer.

“Yeah, sounds good. C’mere Q,” Starks says gently after what must be five minutes of nothing from his end. “I’m sorry I was an ass earlier.”

Q instinctively looks to James for reassurance. He mentally kicks himself when he realizes what he just did. “You ignored me.”

“I spent the whole day listening to you telling me how I’d fucked up your life. Forgive me if I wasn’t in a listening mood.”

“I didn’t point those places out to make you feel guilty.”

“I realize that now, but I still don’t get why you did. Explain it to me?”

Q shakes his head. “Nope. That window has passed. Figure it out yourself,” he jokes, not wanting to say it out loud because he’d sound like a fool. It was a silly reason anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the boys are assholes.


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the awesome TriumphantDisaster as always. I know this chapter took a long time, but it was a long one. The end is close!
> 
> Look at end notes for cw.

Watching them, Q loose-limbed and carefree in James’ arms, acting uncharacteristically submissive even though everyone in the restaurant is staring at him, Tony has a hard time believing what James what had told him just a few days ago, that they need him, that Q…

_“He wasn’t supposed to get attached to you.”_

_Tony looks up from his phone. “From what I hear, same goes for you. I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted.”_

_“It makes things more complicated.”_

_“For you.”_

_“For him,” Bond corrects smoothly. Tony raises an eyebrow. He guesses he can see how that could be hard, being attracted to two people who are both attracted to you, one your soul mate and one your husband. “I realize now I should have been more forthcoming about him. I’ve gotten so used to his ‘unique’ personality that I’ve forgotten that he’s the type that needs to come with a how-to manual.”_

_“I have one of the highest IQs of everyone currently alive and deceased, but I’m still not sure what you’re trying to get at.”_

_“All IQ and no EQ, you and Q both. Although, you’re admittedly better than Q. Medical is constantly on the fence about diagnosing him with an acute case of Aspergers Syndrome.”_

_Tony is only slightly surprised. Many people who accelerate through college and their professions so quickly have at least some form of autism, but it’s hard to tell the difference between the social awkwardness that comes from growing up smarter than everyone around you and acute autism and Q has the all the rights to his strangeness, especially given his past. “And your professional opinion?”_

_“I imagine you’ve your own opinion, given your conversation last night.” Tony raises an eyebrow, but he supposes it’s expected that Bond knows. He replays the conversations he has had with Q and yeah, now that he’s thinking about it, it’s distinctly possible. That would explain a lot actually. Bond continues, "You have to admit he exhibits quite a few of the usual symptoms. I don’t think his interests could possibly be any narrower than they currently are, he doesn’t even bother learning his underlings’ names, and he is extremely sensory sensitive, depending on his nose to tell him everything. Not to mention, everything is black and white to him, especially when it comes to Alphas. He struggles to comprehend that not all Alphas are scum despite being married to one that he doesn’t hate.” Bond sighs heavily, but it’s full of fondness, at least for a professional killer. Most people wouldn’t call it fond but some something more along the lines of borderline murderous contemplation, but Tony lives with Natasha. “What I’m getting at is that he’s now emotionally compromised.”_

_“What exactly does that mean?” Tony asks, although he’s pretty sure the answer is bad. Compromise is probably one of the worst five words a spy could ever hear or say. It’s probably up there between “feelings” and “love”._

_“He doesn’t trust himself around you.”_

_“Okay.” That doesn’t make an iota of sense, but Tony will play along. “And? I’m sensing there’s a punchline here.”_

_“He’s willing to trust me when he can’t trust himself.”_

_That...is one hell of a punchline. Tony exhales. He needs a drink for this. The agent must read his mind because he walks over to Q’s kitchen and pulls out a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses. Not Tony’s first choice, but it’ll have to do. “So you’re saying,” Tony starts as Bond hands him a shot glass, Bond deliberately brushing Tony’s fingers and holding on a second too long. That definitely confirms his suspicions. “That he wants a harem of Alphas at his beck and call day and night.”_

_“Precisely,” Bond replies dryly, clinking his glass against Tony’s then downing it in an instant. “Genius.”_

_Tony watches the long line of Bond’s throat as the agent swallows. He’s pretty attractive, if you’re into the silver fox sort of thing. He has a few graying hairs, which Tony can sympathize with. Tony’s not that old, but palladium poisoning isn’t exactly known for being gentle on the body. The Brit is a blonder, more cynical, better looking version of Coulson with a much better taste in suits and without the Capsicle crush. He also detests paperwork unlike Coulson, seems to sleep around, has a thing for explosive flair, and okay maybe he isn’t like Coulson and all. Which is good. Tony doesn’t want to think about Agent Agent and sexual relations in the same sentence, paragraph even._

_“And your feelings on the matter?” Tony asks, though he already knows the answer and would be offended if it was anything else._

_“I’ve done worse for less,” Bond grunts. Wow, ringing endorsement much? Well, at least the agent has good taste in vodka, Tony thinks as he downs his own shot glass. A little less likely to strip the paint off an Iron Man suit than the brand Natasha keeps feeding them, but that’s a good thing._

_“So, what’s the plan?”_

This, James - not Bond anymore, not after everything they’ve gotten up to this weekend - grinning smugly at Tony before kissing Q, sending the Omega into a burst of delighted trills and laughter, this was definitely not part of the plan. When the agent pulls away he smirks at Tony. What an asshole. An admittedly handsome asshole, who can be surprisingly witty, gives world class blowjobs, and has a _very_ nice cock, but still. What. A. Dick.

Tony accidentally stabs his steak a little too hard, and James’ smirk grows even bigger. He’s been played. Q may have started the game, but James ended it. Fucking spies, they’re almost worse than magic, and Tony _hates_ magic.

Even worse than that though, is the way Q immediately goes still, smile disappearing without a trace. Complete shutdown. Tony had, admittedly, been a little pissy earlier, but he hadn’t done anything to warrant a reaction like that. And it’s not like Q hadn’t had a hand in it. Just because Q looks sad and woobly does not mean Tony is going to apologize first. He can’t always be the one caving first just because James said Q isn’t good with relationships. The Omega has to learn sometime. Except Q keeps making these really sad glances his way and shit, this is like kicking a wounded puppy.

Tony caves. Q rebuffs him a second later, but Tony figures that’s fair and says as much. Besides, he can't find it in himself to be too mad about it when Q allows himself to be pulled onto Tony's lap with zero protest and starts nuzzling his neck. It's a bit out of character, but Tony figures it's the wine, and it's nothing that Q would regret in the morning so he does nothing to discourage it. Also, it's really nice, in a way he never would have suspected.

He's reluctant for it to end, but Q's stomach grumbles loudly and Tony instinctually feels like a failure even though he intellectually knows Q isn't actually lacking for sustenance. Tony guiltily cuts the remaining quarter of his steak as fast as he can, though that's not very fast because Q is situated so his back is against Tony's chest and Tony's reach isn't quite as long as James'.

Tony feels a sharp bite of teeth at his collarbone and he almost drops his knife in surprise. “I know you’re hungry, but that is not the solution,” he jokes. Q ignores him and continues nibbling, which would usually be pretty hot except Q has really sharp teeth and is biting way too hard for this to be considered foreplay. Tony shoots a look at James, who shrugs as if it’s normal for an Omega start chomping away at an Alpha. Tony’s not sure what expression he makes, but James takes pity on him and slides towards them, taking over cutting duty so Tony can lure Q away from his jugular - which Q had been slowly making his way towards - with food.

It works, thank god, his soulmate humming happily as he accepts food from Tony’s hand. More dishes arrive, the hostess rolling a cart filled to maximum capacity, and Q croons, eyes lighting up with excitement. Rather than saying what he wants, he stares at plates with undisguised avarice until James and Tony take the hint and give him what he wants. Q seems to have gone non-verbal, a sign that he feels safe and content, and Tony feels inexplicably proud even though it was mostly James’ doing. It’s a little unnerving to see Q - who wields his blinding intellect like it’s a blunt force weapon and is always itching to swing - so silent, but mostly, Tony is just happy that the date, and this week, is ending on a high note before Q starts going back to work full time. He falls into the pleasant lull of feeding his Omega, who is consuming an alarming amount of food for some reason, but Tony is not going to complain, not when Q is warm against his chest and trilling blissfully.

“My my, it’s rare to see an Omega so docile, especially nowadays when they’re all trying to prove their independence. And he’s cute to boot,” a female voice says.

Tony tears his eyes away from Q to growl at the stranger. An Alpha, pretty in a generic sort of way, and far too close. It takes Tony a moment to realize that he’d just _growled_ and he blinks a few times. He’s never done that before.

“Well I guess that answers my question of whether or not you’d be willing to share,” the stranger says, a playful lilt in her voice.

“What would ever give you the idea that you could walk up to us in a five star restaurant and proposition us during the middle of our meal?” Tony asks, honestly startled by her lack of common sense.

She holds her hands up, showing she means no offense. “He’s in heat and you two are blatantly toting him around in public. What else is a girl to think?”

“He’s in heat?” James asks, body whiplash tense.

“You didn’t realize? The whole restaurant is filled with the scent of it.” She looks back and forth between the two Alphas. "You really didn't know," she remarks with disbelief. “How did you not know?”

"Thanks for you help. You can go now," Tony says, brushing her off. He pulls out his wallet to pay for the food, tossing all his cash on the table. He moves to take off, bundle Q into the car, but James is hailing the waiter.

“I don’t think David is going to leave without the food,” James explains, before Tony can yell at him for wasting time..

“Did you drug him?” The stranger asks, still there for some reason, blocking Tony’s way.

Tony glares at her. “No. I’m his soul mate and that’s his husband. Thanks for your concern, but we have to go.”

She looks at him skeptically. “Wait, aren’t you-”

“It’s fine,” Q assures, apparently having snapped back to reality. “Thank you though. Your concern is appreciated.” He smiles at her and Tony feels a flash of irrational jealousy. “And yes, James, bring the food, thank you,” he continues genially.

The moment she and the waitress are out of hearing distance, he whirls on Tony and James, noticeably displeased. “How did you not realize I was in heat?”

Tony shrugs. “No scents, remember?” He looks at James.

James doesn’t look up from where he’s hastily shoving food into take out boxes. “I tend to avoid Omegas in heat so I wouldn’t know. You smell the same to me. What’s your excuse?”

“I thought I was on suppressants. By the time it started I must’ve been too out of it to realize,” Q answers. Tony frowns. He’d seen Q take them with his own eyes, although in retrospect they should’ve seen this coming. Q had seemed to be getting healthier as the week progressed, having more energy to spar, and becoming friskier as well. And the mood swings, the weirdness at dinner... “R or Clint must’ve switched them. Fuck.”

“Okay, how are we going to do this?”

“It’s too late to stop it,” Q answers, climbing off Tony’s lap and helping James pack the food. His voice is steady, but he's trembling. “I’m having a moment of clarity now, but from my experience they tend to come and go. We still have quite some time before my heat really hits, though. I might blank out at some points and experience memory loss but that’s fine. We’ll go to my place. I have equipment there. Tony, you’ll have to wash off the bond blocker. James, you…”

“He can wear the bond blocker and stay close,” Tony assures, petting Q in what he hopes is a soothing manner. He has been with Omegas through their heats before, but none of them acted like Q has and he hasn't ever heard of anyone experiencing memory loss, so he's about as lost as Q and James. “We’ll swing by your place, but I have a room set up in the tower that will work a lot better. Are you sure you want me to take you through your heat?”

Q is silent as they walk to the car, which has already brought up by the concierge. “I’m not ready for that, but I don’t think I can go through this heat alone. You saw me in the restaurant. It’s going to be bad. I need you there, just please don’t fuck me. Even if…” Q swallows, stares out the window. “Even if I beg for it. Please.”

“I won’t,” Tony promises. “If you want you could tie me up or handcuff-”

“Absolutely not,” Q interjects, shuddering. Tony suspects there’s a story behind that. “I...trust you.” And James will be nearby just in case.

“So, what do you want me to do? And you realize that if I take off the bond blocker we’ll risk bonding.” He doesn't think Q would miss something like that, but he has to make sure. He’s also not sure if he’s ready to be bonded; he’s only spent so much time with Q, still doesn’t know so many things about the Omega.

“I know. There’s a very high probability, actually. If you don’t want that then we could go to a clinic, you could wear the bond blocker and come with me and make sure nothing untoward happens.”

“No. No clinic,” Tony says vehemently. If Q was okay with clinics, he would’ve already gone to one. Just the thought of some stranger touching Q when he’s so vulnerable makes the hackles on the back of his neck raise. He supposes that answers his hesitations. They might not be ready to be bonded together, but Tony wants that. Always has.

“Okay.” Q swallows, looking a little relieved. Or maybe Tony is just projecting. “I have a toy that will simulate the knotting, but that doesn’t mean anything without Alpha pheromones.”

“Which is why you need me,” Tony concludes. Q nods.

“And I want you there. Just to warn you, I won’t be much like myself during my heat, in case you haven’t already noticed. I apologize beforehand. Is your blood clean?” Q asks, turning towards Tony.

Tony blinks. “Yes?”

“Don’t look so concerned. I’m just covering all the bases. Well, maybe not all the bases,” Q amends with a smirk.

“James, did you hear that? Q just made a joke. He’s almost a real boy.”

James pulls to a stop in front of Q’s flat and Q darts out to grab his “equipment,” not deigning to reply.

“Stay. He needs a little time alone,” James says before Tony can even get his seatbelt undone, speaking for the first time since the restaurant. Tony takes a good look at the Alpha now that his focus isn’t on Q. The agent’s knuckles are white, his veins standing out from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel.

“Are you okay?” Tony asks. He pulls his vial of bond blocker out of his pocket and hands it to the other Alpha. “Scent glands and under your nose.” James nods, accepting the vial and applying far more liberally than he has to. Tony still doesn’t know why James is so against, no, terrified by, the idea of bonding with Q. He knows that James, despite being queer, is insanely in love with Q. He has hints as to why: James’ files, redacted beyond belief, that Tony shouldn’t have read, the way James had reacted the night that Q had locked himself in the bathroom, the fact that James couldn’t tell that Q was going into heat. Hints. That’s all he ever seems to have with these two.

“I can be there for Q, although not in the same room. Precautionary measure.”

“Not what I asked.”

“Are you okay?” James echoes, and that’s answer enough. “Think you can do this? Because if you fuck this up,” James starts, tony measured and soft, and Tony inwardly rolls his eyes, ready for a death threat, “Q might not recover this time.”

Tony reels at the words, feeling off kilter. Agents always issue threats. Shit. “I won't," he promises. "You sure you don't want to be with us? Q would like that, and the bond blocker won't fail."

James shakes his head. "I'd rather not risk it. Besides, would you really want that? Two Alphas and one Omega in heat."

"I was fine with it at the restaurant," Tony argues, because yes he wants that. James knows more about Q, and Tony, though he's pretty sure he won't fuck this up, would appreciate the back up.

James raises an eyebrow at Tony via the front mirror.

"Well I was before you started taunting me," Tony amends. "Maybe after we bond? It'll definitely be safe then." Although he's not sure why James needs to be safe from bonding with Q.

"You'll be newly bonded. You really think that's a good idea?"

"All my ideas are good ideas. We’ll ask Q when he gets back?”

“This isn’t a democracy.”

Q chooses that moment to slide into the car, a small bag slung over his shoulder. "You're right, James. It's a dictatorship." James rolls his eyes, but starts the car nonetheless. “So what am I dictating today? Is it Mossad again?” Q turns to towards Tony, smiling. “I got to control the Mossad for a day once,” the Omega preens, looking adorably smug at the fact.

Tony can’t help the stupid grin that appears on his own face in response. “Ya? I bet they were a lot better behaved that James. I’d ask you to tell me about it, but I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to even know that you were in cahoots with them for something.”

Q’s smile disappears as he snaps back to himself, and his normal stony expression, and realizes what he’d just done. “Shite, I hate heats. Good thing I get so out of it later on that I literally can’t spill national secrets, or else I’d have to gag myself.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I could get them myself if I really tried,” Tony jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

“Not particularly,” Q says wryly. “So what were you two discussing behind my back again?”

“If you want James there.”

“Absolutely not,” Q replies immediately and Tony almost winces at the harshness of it. “Not until my heat is over.”

“It’ll be safe i-”

“No,” Q snaps. “And that’s final. I don’t want him watching either.”

The car comes to a halting stop in Stark Tower’s private garage. Q’s words go completely against what James had told him about his soul mate, the display of affection they had earlier. “Okay then. Uh, any other requests?” Tony asks as they walk towards the elevator. “Jarvis, penthouse. There’s a connecting room he can stay in, if that’s okay?”

Q nods, shoulders sagging a little. “Ya, that’s - That’s good. Sorry. Nothing else really. Don’t fuck me and don’t make the biting bond. That’s it. I’d prefer it if neither of us touched each other below the groin area, if possible, but it’s fine if it happens.”

“Got it. And I promise to not ask any incriminating questions.” The elevator slows to a halt, revealing a kitchen/eating area that’s bordered by windows on elevator side. It has a pantry, a fully stocked bar, appliances, and countertops that wrap around the walls, and a door on the right as well as one at the back. “The door to the right is yours James.” Tony tilts his head towards said door, his hands too full of takeout boxes to point. “And the one straight ahead is for you, Q.”

Literally, for Q. The whole floor had been designed for his comfort. Well, the floor plan had been made for Tony’s Omega in general, but Q’s room had been furnished after Tony had actually met Q. He’d worked on the nest during the past week whenever Q was at work, and it’d turned out beautifully, if Tony may say so himself, but there’s always a chance that he messed up, that Q will reject it.

Q opens the door and immediately stops, frozen in the doorframe. “You built me a nest,” Q says, with little inflection. Tony grimaces. Alphas building a nest for their Omega is a bit traditional, and Q is anything but, but it wouldn’t have felt right not to.

Tony had asked both Alec and Steve for help when he’d been designing the nest, asked them to keep it a secret. They both have a better idea of what made a nest perfect, Steve is good at designing things, and Alec has a good idea of what Q likes. Or that’d been the hope.

The room has a sloped floor so that the nest rests at the highest point. It’s atypical as nests are usually sunken in, but this makes it more defensible. To make up for that, the middle of the nest can slide open like a trap door, revealing a smaller, secondary nest inside if Q feels like burrowing in. The nest is in the corner and takes up a fourth of the room. It’s shaped like the top half of a sphere but with smaller, bubble-shaped protrusions of varying sizes that Q can curl up in. The sides of the nest that border the walls is covered in panels of various soft materials - fleece, cashmere, cotton, etc. - that open up. There’s a door that opens inwards to a bathroom, but other than that they’re all drawers or cabinets that will open outwards if Q presses on the top right corners of them. The cabinets are for a freezer, fridge, and microwave, and the drawers have various toys, meds, game consoles that can be taken out, extra blankets, and things like that. Although, there’s already heaps and heaps of blankets, mostly in neutral tones, and pillows on the bed already because Tony figured that he couldn’t go wrong with more. James had donated a few to the pile, identical to the blanket Q has at his home, when Tony had asked, figuring Q would appreciate having some that had James’ scent on them.

The other half of the nest’s walls is made of glass panes that can become opaque if Q so chooses. There’s a control panel on one of them - though they can be controlled via Jarvis or holoscreens - and the glass panes can to be set to be anywhere from lowered to the floor to extended up to create an enclosed dome. One of the panes is only attached on one side so Q can still get in and out of the nest if the glass is up. In hindsight, Tony is really glad that Alec had suggested the control panel - "I don't care about how sleek your design is, Q likes fiddling with things" - seeing as Q might have a hard time communicating with Jarvis when he's non-verbal. The control panel also has options for heating and cooling the mattresses - plural because it was necessary to have two in order for the nest to be able to open up and there's a third mattress in the secondary nest - because heats fuck up the body's temperature regulation.

“I can’t believe you built me a nest.” Q turns to face Tony, eyes wide and wearing a smile that erases all of Tony’s worries. “It’s gorgeous.” The Omega leans upwards and presses a kiss to Tony’s cheek, light and over in a second, before beelining towards the nest and completely ignoring the gorgeous view.

“So you accept?” Tony asks, following tradition. It’s a mating ritual, of sorts. Alphas present their Omega with a nest, and the Omega inspects it and deems it to be worthy or unworthy. Usually, it’s done a bit before an Omega’s heat, but Q’s came by surprise.

Q doesn’t look up at Tony, busy flitting around the nest. “There aren’t enough blankets. Completely unacceptable. We have to go back to my house.”

He’s going to be sick. He can re-do it though, make it better. This is just v.1.0. A beta version. It’s not a big deal, it doesn’t mean that Q doesn’t -

“Tony? I was joking. Tony, it’s the best present I’ve ever received. Well, aside from Nono, but that was also you. Tony? Are you mad? I’m sorry. I didn’t think -. I’m sorry.”

Tony breaks out of his thoughts to see Q’s head peeking up from above the glass, which he’d made opaque and lowered to merely fence around the nest. Q’s head is slightly tilted to the side, the Omega biting his lip and looking worried. “Sorry,” Tony apologizes. “You really had me going for a second.”

“Only a second?” Q replies, turning coyish for an instant. The next, he’s beaming ear to ear like a little kid. “Come on.”

Tony walks to the nest and Q opens the door for him. Q blinks at the takeout containers, suddenly remembering their presence.

“Shouldn’t those go in the -” Q’s eyes light up. “There’s a fridge here somewhere.” He glances about the nest, searching. He’s practically bouncing up and down, the threat of his imminent heat lost in his excitement. He looks up at Tony, as if to ask for affirmation or permission to bound away. He probably doesn’t even realize it. It’s ridiculously endearing.

Tony imagines that this is what Q must’ve been like as teen, before he was robbed of his faith in people: vibrant and full of childlike curiosity, broadcasting his happiness and smiling at anyone who looked his way. He probably blushed and ducked his head whenever someone smiled back at him too. No wonder people doted on him - they still do, but for a different reason - with him being so unknowingly charming with his earnestness, looking at Tony like he hung the moon in the sky. Tony imagines David tripping over his words for how excited he’d get and frantically making hand motions to make up for it, then becoming frustrated and pouting when nobody understood him. God, Q’s puppy eyes were probably even worse back then than they are now. He’d probably unintentionally used them to always get his way, and intentionally too. Tony isn’t sure how anyone had survived him. Probably only Q's slight awkward shyness had saved them all.

Suddenly, Tony realizes why Q had pointed out the places he had on their date.

Q blinks up at him, still looking pleased as could be, if a little confused as to why Tony is smiling like a fool.

Tony is so, so, fondly fucking gone for him. Tony swallows and carefully sets the containers down on the bed. “I have to go take a quick shower, wash off the bond blocker, but I’ll be right back. Have fun exploring.” He kisses the top of Q’s head and makes a strategic retreat. “Jarvis, record this will you?” He asks, once he’s in the kitchen again. He wants to be there to watch Q explore, but god knows how long until Q realized why Tony was smiling like a dope. Q only needs Tony for his heats, he has James to love, no matter how attached James thinks Q is to Tony.

It’s hard to remember that when Q looks at him like that.

“Of course, sir. Only this?”

“Ya. No recording later.”

He knocks on James’ door. The agent frowns when he opens it.

“Is Q okay?” He immediately asks, which is probably an indication of how freaked out Tony looks.

“Ya. He really likes the nest. If anything goes wrong, Jarvis will alert you immediately. He’ll update you periodically too, so try not to worry too much,” Tony rambles. “I’m sorry Q -”

“It’s fine,” James sighs, stepping aside to let Tony in. “I should have expected it, really.”

Tony makes his way to the shower, not bothering to close the bathroom door behind him. James takes a seat on the toilet lid, slumping. The agent looks exhausted.”Why?” Tony asks, as he enters the shower’s spray and starts to scrub off the bond blocker with soap.

“He’s probably part worried that something will go wrong, but he’s also angry about that the fact that I could’ve helped him through his heats but never did.”

“But you couldn’t.”

“No more than he could trust anyone but you with this.”

“Do you think, maybe, that it’s just that Q doesn’t want you to see him like this? I mean, he technically is your boss.”

“I’ve already seen him at his worst.”

They both go silent, steam permeating the room as revelation sinks in. Tony hastily finishes scrubbing, kicks James out to use the toilet because now he’s even more nervous and apparently realizing he’s in love and being nervous makes him need to pee almost as much as it makes him want to be with Q. Tony redresses, pulling on his suit - that’d he’d absentmindedly thrown on the floor and neither he nor James had noticed - and James gives him a reassuring hug before he leaves.

When Tony re-enters Q’s nest room he's instantly hit by the scent of heat, but more specifically Q. It's not the first time Tony has scented Q - that was at Q's wedding, the cloying scent of flowers sticking to everything - but it still feels like a revelation. There's a slight tinge of sickness, but the sweet, clean scent of heat washes over it. As Tony gets closer to the nest, he can pick up Q’s scent underneath the heat. It’s a bit like petrichor and makes Tony think of storms, crisp and sharp cold air, and howling winds. Q himself is nowhere in sight. Tony smiles, wondering where in his nest his soul mate is. There’s a rustle of blankets and a few seconds later Tony is greeted by the sight of Q’s green eyes peering at him.

Q’s nostril are visibly flaring, the Omega scenting Tony. His hair is damp and floppy and the rest of him is bundled up in blankets, though Tony can tell that the Omega hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on after his shower. All of the Omega’s earlier energy seems to have been drained from him.

Tony enters the nest and crawls over to where Q is curled at the back of the nest. The mattress is cool underneath his hands and knees. “Hey, you doing okay?” Q’s face is pale and he’s clutching a blanket against his stomach.

“Peachy,” Q grimaces. “I think my innards are trying to arrange themselves.”

“How can I help? I’d suggest painkillers, but with your system all screwed up I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Tony frowns. Despite the blankets swathing him, Q looks small and Tony wants to bundle the Omega in his arms except it looks like it might actually hurt Q if he did that, with the way Q is curled around a blanket like it’s a lifeline.

“Your scent helps a little,” Q admits.

Tony obeys it for the command that it is, lays on the nest a few inches away from q, facing the Omega. He carefully scoots closer, making sure to not jostle his soul mate, until Q’s nose is tucked into the crook of his neck, where the scent is strongest.

“Did you know you smell like fried circuit boards and fireplace?” Tony blinks. He’d been told that he smells like something mechanical/electrical before, but never burning wood. He’s not quite sure how to take that, but Q doesn’t seem to mind so he pushes it the back of his mind.

“No. Did you know you smell like a storm?”

Tony feel’s Q’s smile against his neck, the tiny chuckle that he makes. “What kind? Shall thee compare me to a summer’s monsoon?” Tony’s surprised at the play on Shakespeare’s famous quote, less surprised that Q already knew.

“Thou art more lovely and far more dangerous.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Q jokes, his breathing a little more even than it’d been earlier, body a little less tense.

Tony strokes Q’s curls, thinks, _as long as I’m in nowhere with you_ , says, “Do you think you could get some rest before your heat really kicks in?”

“There is no rest for the wicked,” Q jokes, but he slowly rearranges some of the blankets to make himself more comfortable. He pulls one out of the miniature nest of blankets he’s built around himself and offers it to Tony to use as a pillow. Tony takes it, and tucks them in. Q’s eyelids brush Tony’s skin as Q closes his eyes and the Omega, already half asleep, lets out a soft trill of contentment. “Tony?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you. You make this bearable. I'm sorry I’m not ready for you to knot me. It doesn't mean I don't want you though. I want you and... I hope you enjoy my heat.”

It takes a long time for Tony to fall into an uneasy sleep after that, not sure if it was Q or the heat talking.

\-------

When Tony wakes, his senses are immediately overwhelmed with the scent of Q’s heat, the grind of Q’s _practically nude_ body against his, the high pitched whines coming from Q’s mouth. Q’s bottom lip is bitten red and his body is shining with sweat, thighs coated in excess slick. He is any Alpha’s wet dream. Tony’s body responds instantly, had already started while Tony was still unconscious.

Q’s normally bright eyes are glazed with lust and pain and fear and seeing them makes it so easy for Tony to remember that Q does not want this, that this is the Omega's worst nightmare. Nausea wars with arousal, neither of them winning. Tony shoves them both down for the sake of Q.

Q, who is wordlessly gasping against Tony’s chest, writhing and clawing at the sheets, himself, Tony. “I got you,” Tony comforts, running his fingers down his Omega’s spine and gently collecting Q’s wrists with his other hand. He pins them to the mattress and Q doesn’t fight it, stilling - aside from his hips - instantly.

Tony glances around the nest, cursing his past self for being too fixated on Q to make sure supplies were readily available. “I’ll be right back, okay? Just going to get you a nice knot.” Q whimpers, and before Tony turns towards the drawers, he sees Q’s cock twitch in his boxer-briefs, just from Tony’s voice.

Tony takes a deep breath to fortify himself and ends up drinking in Q’s scent instead. He hates that he’s responding to this, wonders if Q will hate that. It only takes a moment to get to Q’s bag, propped against the wall next to the bathroom door, and retrieve the toy that Q had specifically brought - made, Tony realizes after inspecting it and quickly testing out its controls - for this.

When he turns back around, Q is still on his back, but his underwear is gone and his legs are spread, the Omega is desperately thrusting two fingers inside himself, trying and failing to get the fullness that he’s craving. Each thrust brings about more slick, and Q’s hand is soaked with it, the rim of his hole glistening in invitation. His hips are jerking wildly: frantic, abortive little motions.

Tony runs a hand down Q’s side, ending at where his name is written into the Omega’s skin, and tries to make soothing sounds. He gently grips Q’s arm to slow down the Omega’s motions. “Come on, this’ll feel better,” Tony says, carefully pulling on Q’s wrist and guiding the Omega’s hand to the dildo.

Q makes a small, questioning sound, pointedly looking at Tony’s crotch, where ya, he’s hard because he’s not dead.

Not dead yet, Tony amends, when Q crawls into his lap. He can feel the wetness of Q’s slick even through his sweats and Q’s cock is pressed against his stomach. “Q, no,” Tony says, grasping Q’s hips to stop the Omega’s grinding motions. “Q, come on. The toy is good, I promise.” The Omega pays him no heed, hands pulling at Tony’s pants and completely ignoring the knotting toy. He’s making low keening noise and resting his forehead against Tony’s chest, already tired but desperate for relief.

Tony swallows and hopes that Q won’t hate him for this. “Can you hold yourself open for me love? I can give you what you want, but you have to be good, okay?”

Q looks up at Tony and nods, obeying. And it would be so _sweet_ if Q hadn’t been addled out of his mind with hormones. Tony kisses the Omega to distract him and collects some of the slick form Q’s thighs to slick up the knotting toy. He gently presses the head of it against Q’s opening, careful to mind Q’s request to not touch him. It takes a few tries as he’s doing it blind, but eventually he feels it slowly sink in and Q whimpers into the kiss. “I’ve got you,” Tony promises, pushing in. Once it’s fully seated, he presses the button that he thinks starts some pre-programmed series of vibrations and thrusts before inflating at the base.

Q shudders in his arms and Tony runs a hand along Q’s back, pulling at Q’s hair with his other. Q doesn’t fight it, bares his neck and lets Tony gently kiss and nip, marking Q as his even without making a mating bite. Tony wants to claim Q so badly, but the reminder that Q isn’t his to claim keeps the urge at bay.

Q falls apart under his hands and mouth, and it’s one of the most beautiful things Tony has seen. He settles Q in his lap once more and though it’s uncomfortable with the base of the dildo bumping against his constrained cock it’s worth it to be able to the pleasure Q gets every time he rolls his hips and jostling the toy inside Q, faux fucking him. He can feel the heat of Q’s ass against his thighs; his pants are soaked with slick and Q’s ass must be red from rubbing against the fabric.

Q’s cock is hard and leaking against Tony’s stomach and Tony groans, wanting to wrap his hand around the length, bring Q to completion. Instead, he traces Q’s soul mark, memorizes the scars there and the contractions of Q’s ribcage as he takes shuddery breaths. Tony counts Q’s ribs with fingers, tracing the little dips between each bones. Tony wishes he could mark Q here, cover the Omega in his seed. With Q's scent so clean from his heat, he would carry Tony’s pheromones for days and anyone who got too close would instantly know that Q was his. He can’t though, so he settles for second best. “Q, touch yourself,” Tony commands gently. “I want you to come for me. Can you do that, love?”

The Omega nods eagerly, slender fingers wrapping around his cock and pumping. He spreads his legs so Tony has a better view as he bounces on Tony’s cock, trying to fuck his hand. Tony can catch a glimpse of the base of the vibrator, but not Q’s rim. It’s an insane tease. Tony drags Q into a brutal, open mouth kiss and Q comes with a choked off cry, come splattering against their chests and stomachs. The intensity of the toy’s vibrations pick up, the knot most likely inflating and Q tenses, arches before going completely limp in pleasure and exhaustion. Tony presses his hips up and pushes the toy in deeper, making sure that it’s pressing against Q’s prostate, before pulling back enough that he can shove a hand down his pants and bring himself to completion. It doesn’t take much, his hand wet with Q’s come and slick, Q’s soft moans filling his ears whenever Tony’s hand jostles the toy on an upstroke, Q hot and pliant against him, the image Q on his back, desperately trying to pleasure himself and displaying himself for Tony.

Tony squeezes his eyes shut. Imagines it’s Q’s hand wrapped around his cock, that Q is lucid and wants this. Q shifts off his lap, but Tony is so close that he isn’t concerned.

A moment later, Q is suckling at the head of his cock through his pants. Tony opens his eyes, pulls his hands off his cock, tries to push Q away. “Q, no. You can’t. God, please you can’t.” Q manages one last swipe of his tongue, one last squeeze around Tony’s knot, before Tony can shove the Omega onto his back, off Tony’s cock, and Tony can’t help it. He comes. He braces himself above Q, pinning Q’s wrists to the bed so the Omega doesn’t touch him again. Tony’s head is bowed and its all he can do to keep himself from collapsing atop the Omega and grinding against him. His hips twitching in the air, desperate for friction, knot burning for want to be buried in tight heat. But he can’t, can’t rub himself off against Q. He’s already done enough.

He collapses onto his back once it's over, exhausted. Q clamors atop him, toy still lodged in his gorgeous ass and cock flush and leaking. Tony's cock twitches, having not gotten soft yet and already on its way back to hardness. The Omega whines, looking lost and confused. Q is all instinct and hindbrain right now and Tony just all but refused to mate with him. Shit.

Tony reaches up and pulls down so that the Omega is lying atop him. “I’ve got you,” Tony promises, brushing aside Q’s sweaty curls and kissing him on the forehead. Then he gets back to pleasuring his Omega.

\---------

Tony wakes to Q staring at him. His green eyes are bright with knowledge and curiosity, if a little softer than normal. Morning lights filters through the windows behind Q and he looks as if he’s glowing. The sweet scent of heat lingers, but it’s mostly gone, Q’s scent crisp and sharp.

“Hey, you’re back?” Tony greets. Q nuzzles Tony’s hand with his cheek, trilling a bit, and Tony pets him obligingly. “Guess not,” Tony chuckles, feeling his muscles wince in protest to the movement. It’d been a long, rough heat, and not just by subjective standards.

“I am,” Q corrects, smiling up at Tony, smile widening even further when he realizes that he’d startled the Alpha. “I vaguely remember most of it, actually. Thank you. You were, are, wonderful. Even if you did come the second I touched your cock like a teenager,” Q teases.

Tony freezes. He’d called Q “love” during his heat. Did Q remember that? Tony meant it, had said it in the spur of moment because it didn’t seem like something that would trigger Q, but if Q remembered…Tony searches his soul mate’s eyes for answers.

“What’s wrong? Did you not enjoy it?”

“No, I did. I mean I didn’t, but –“

“I want you to,” Q says firmly, kissing Tony and snuggling close to emphasize his point. “Are you worried about what you said? You shouldn’t be.”

Tony feels his heart skip a beat. Q can probably feel it too.

“I will always belong to myself before I am anyone elses’,” Q says fiercely, fire and independence once more. Tony is completely captivated by him. He cups Tony’s cheek, presses their foreheads together and looks Tony in the eyes, sincerity in his gaze. “But you’ve got me. You’re mine, and I am yours.”

It’s not a declaration of love, but it’s close and it’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dub-con due to heat, sexytimes minus the sex.
> 
> The awesome idea for Alphas to make nests for Omegas that Omegas could accept or reject came from TriumphantDisaster :). Ve might have seen on tumblr so whoever made the tumble post, bless you.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings at the end of the chapter as usual.
> 
> 9/9/2015 edit: added a few lines to the ending

Tony stretches his arm out, reaching for the small, lump-shaped warmth he has grown accustomed to waking up wrapped around. He stumbles into consciousness when there’s nothing there. Opens his eyes a few seconds later.

Fuck.

\-------

James doesn’t look away from the window when he hears his door open.

“You left,” Q says flatly, coming up from behind James and handing him a warm thermos. Their hands deliberately don’t touch, and Q stands behind James, a few inches out of reach. Cold, calculating. Good, that means he’s in one piece, even if his voice is a little raspy.

“You didn’t want me there.” That had been clear enough.

“Because you didn’t want to be there,” Q accuses.

James sighs, trades his fag for a sip of whatever's in the thermos Q had brought as a peace offering, knowing James would take it whether or not he forgave Q. It’s an old fight. One no longer important. “How was it?” He asks, swallowing down what turns out to be spiked hot chocolate.

“The view there was better,” the Omega replies noncommittally.

James looks into his living room window, at Q’s pale reflection, and can’t help but agree. “Your hands still aren’t steady.” Neither is the rest of him.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not the one pulling the trigger, isn’t it?”

“Are we acting like strangers now?”James raises an eyebrow, knowing that Q is also looking at the reflections on the window rather than the view.

“The inevitability of time, don’t you think?”

If it were anyone but Q, it’d sound like a dismissal. “Careful, you almost sound nostalgic.”

Q sighs. “It was fine. He’s good to me, more than I deserve. I didn’t even throw up or have a panic attack afterwards.”

No, he just ran away. Much better. Poor Stark, he didn’t sign up for this, not like James did. “Almost sounds like you’re in love.”

Q snorts. “As if you would know how that sounds.”

Touché. “I took care of R.”

“You mean you’ve left me with a lot of paperwork and explanations to make.”

James pulls a bottle out of his pocket and tosses it to Q. It rattles as it flies the short distance through the air. “I also picked these up. It wasn’t just R. It was one of the nurses too. The little blonde Omega woman.”

Q catches the bottle out of reflex, stares at it uncomprehendingly for a minute. “Figures. I doubt R had to try hard to convince her. She thought it’d be good for me, said as much, to get off suppressants and bond with my soulmate… It wasn’t that bad,” the Omega says finally, as if still puzzling the experience out in his head. Probably trying to weigh out if it was good, if not bad. Or, if somehow it was neither or not even something between. “You didn’t frighten her too badly?”

James shakes his head. “Yet, you’re here and not with him. You realize he won’t be happy about waking up alone?”

“I left a message with Jarvis. I needed space. I can-” Q pauses, swallows. “He smells like a wood fire and burnt circuitry.” Q stop again, and James waits for the rest of the explanation. “I can still taste it - him - like smoke clinging to the back of my throat. Like he’s still there and burning me from the inside out. I needed to breathe.”

That makes zero sense, like most of Q’s explanations for matters that aren’t wires, numbers, and escape routes. James nods anyways.

“It’s not like it was with Alec,” Q continues. “Alec didn’t want anything from me and I hadn’t wanted him, not like that.”

“Like what?” James prompts.

“I acted like a whore.”

James would be more surprised if Q hadn’t. It’d been the Omega’s first heat since he’d been kidnapped and the first time he’d been exposed to Tony’s pheromones, which, based off Q’s reliance on his sense of smell and his strange spiel, were apparently overwhelming. Q knows this even if he refuses to acknowledge the facts and James would have better luck bleeding a stone than getting Q to realize his idiocy.

“Is there something wrong with that?” James says instead, reminding Q exactly how many times the Quartermaster has ordered him to seduce a target.

Q rolls his eyes. “Don’t act daft. You know what I mean. Besides, you hardly act like one and you actually get paid. You’re not actually this wanton, needy creature that’s desperate to get off before anything else.” Q spits out the words, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“And you are?”

“I would’ve done anything to get him to fuck me despite knowing that he wasn’t going to.”

“Even sell out your agents?”

Q’s head snaps up. “What? No. How could you ever-”

“Then I don’t see the issue.” James turns around and tosses his fag into the ashtray on his living room table. “Q, I’m going on a long term mission.”

“You’re still healing,” Q protests. “M can’t-”

“I’m cleared and everyone else has their own assignments. I’ve been putting it off long enough.”

Q deflates. “Are you leaving me?” Us?” The Omega creeps uncertainly towards James.

James closes the small gap between them, lets his arms rest loosely around Q. “No, but I won’t act like I’m not tired of being your relationship counselor and third wheel.”

“I know who your soulmate is. I figured it out. He’s here. In London. If you want,” Q offers, hopeful, burying his face in the crook of James’ shoulder.

James shakes his head. “I don’t.” He’d already figured it out a while back. James is a little surprised that Q figured it out and a little touched that Q would willingly tell him. He steps back. It’s not what he wants. “I leave tonight.”

“You were going to leave without saying anything.”

James shrugs, ruffles the the poofy nest that is Q’s hair. “There was nothing to say.”

\-------

Due to the unexpected time Q took off for his heat, he’s sucked into work immediately after. Or so the message he left with Jarvis says. He doesn’t even text. Tony would be worried that Q is avoiding him, but in that case Q would’ve just told him to fuck off instead of leaving a nice message. Probably. Actually, Tony isn’t sure at all. He would ask James, semi-reliable translator for most things Q, but the agent has disappeared as well, most likely on a mission, taking Tony’s vial of bond suppressant with him. Tony has extras of course, but he’s pretty sure that wasn’t the point. Though, as long as James doesn’t turn it over to the lab rats at MI6, Tony isn’t concerned. That, and Tony has a vial of something new, courtesy of Bruce, to worry about. Tony knows he should give it to Q ASAP, just show up at the Omega’s door until he returns home or go to MI6 or something, but… he can’t. They are this close to making it work. The drug's effects are currently irreversible. It doesn't have any hideous side effects like Q's current suppresants, but it's _permanent_. Q could just up and leave. And Tony, he’s selfish. He told Q that at the beginning. Full disclosure and everything. 

By the time Tony next sees Q, a week and a half has passed. He shows up at the door of Tony’s lab unannounced - well Jarvis announced him but still - holding a clay pot. He looks dead on his feet and ready to drop, a bit like the Avengers had after the Chitauri invasion. When Tony had last seen him, he’d been glowing and healthy, if run a little ragged from his heat.

Q extends the pot towards him, foregoing a greeting. “What’s in the pot?” Tony asks curiously rather than the handful of questions he’d rather know the answer to.

“I realized I’d never gotten you a housewarming gift. It’s a plant. Well, sort of. I doubt you’d remember to water an actual plant, no offense. I don’t think I know a single person who would.” Tony take a closer glimpse at the pot and sees that there indeed is a tiny sprout, but it looks like metal. “You feed it metal and it grows. Well, not all metals of course. It uses solar energy to heat the metal and make it malleable and it doesn't go hot enough to melt, say, vibranium. Sorry.”

“How does it work?” Tony asks, taking the pot from Q’s hands. It’s heavier than it looks. Q offers him a few chips of metal, waiting for Tony to juggle the pot into one hand before handing them over, fingers brushing against his. Copper, bronze, silver, aluminum. Tony places one next to the sprout carefully. Two metal vines pop out of the “soil”, and wrap around the scrap like a cocoon, most likely to heat it up. They then mold the metal to make the sprout thicker and taller. Tony adds more and more chips and slowly the sprout has a sprig branching out, a small multi-colored flower atop it.

“Unfortunately I couldn’t figure out how to make it grow more organically.” Q apologizes.

“Are you kidding me? This is amazing.” Tony walks over to the window and makes a place for the plant on the bench there. Immediately, Dummy zooms to them, curious and reaching for the plant. Tony inserts himself between Dummy and the plant before the bot can make contact. “Will it try to take metal from Dummy?” He asks Q.

“No. Only things the size of a tennis ball or smaller. Dummy should be fine. 

Dummy bobs his single arm up and down, wheels away, then comes back with a container full of wing nuts. He places a clawful down carefully on the soil, some of them spilling on the ground, and spins around in delight when the vines pick them up and start molding them into more flowers.

“Should I be worried about waking up to my lab being encased by vines?” Tony asks, directing the question at both Dummy and Q.

“It’s fine to prune it. The design of the plant is randomized based on a database of plants so if you don’t like how it looks you can always chop it off at the stalk. As long as you don’t cut those two vines it won’t break. And you can always move it away from a window. It’ll run out of power before that happens.”

“Thanks, Q.” Tony is kind of floored. Not because of the engineering that went into it - Tony is sure that if he bothered to, he could figure out how to make it grow like a real plant, without the vines - but because Q made him something useless, frivolous, and just for fun. Something not boring. Not creative, Tony’s ass.

The vial in Tony’s pocket feels like it’s burning a hole. Now would be the perfect time to give it to Q. He ignores it. “How did you find the time to make this while handling whatever emergency happened?”

Q shrugs and plops down on a bench.. “I had some free time, seeing as James took care of R. There was just quite a bit of paperwork and related chaos.”

\-------

That’s a lie. There’d hardly been any emergency, somehow. If anything, there’d been a lull. Tyler is now R, at least temporarily and possibly permanently. The choice had been a bit arbitrary, but he does have the qualifications - not being a total ponce and being willing to contradict people goes a long way towards handling agents - so it should okay. The nurse had been relocated to work at a nursing home and M had done all the paperwork, surprisingly enough. James had gone off quietly, even his mission going off without a hitch. The plant had been a way to keep Q from going stir crazy or thinking too hard. Something to ease the guilt.

Q had thought that the week and a half of semi-isolation would give his body time to right itself, for both the phantom sensation of Tony’s limbs entangled with his and Tony’s scent to fade. Medical’s tests had agreed, showing that his hormone levels were back to normal by the end. Which means that he has only himself to blame for falling off balance and into Tony’s orbit again the second he’d walked into the lab. He keeps finding himself inching closer, leaning in to catch a hint of Tony’s scent, despite the fact that Tony is apparently using the bond suppressor again. Q isn’t even sure how he feels about that. Relieved? Betrayed?

“James is on a mission for the unforeseeable future,” Q says, wondering how he’s going to navigate this now that his agent is gone.

“Things are okay between the two of you, right?”

Q nods. As much as they’ll ever be, really. “It was an old argument. Sorry we haven’t explained it better, but it’s not my story to tell and one that James has never told.” And probably never will.

“And you’re okay?” Tony asks.

“Just a little tired.” Another lie, and this one Tony catches, leveling Q with a look that conveys how doubtful he is. The American opens his mouth, probably to point out how terrible Q looks. Q cuts him off before he can find out. “Okay, a lot tired, but that’s nothing new. Didn’t get a lot of sleep.” How strange it was, that he’d become accustomed to sharing a bed despite his initial protestations. (It's a rather telling testimony to Q's lifestyle that he's used to waking up in the middle of the night because his bed partner had a nightmare and their first instinct was to attack the innocent sleeping next to them.) He’d spent hours laying in bed, tossing and turning to get comfortable, trying to turn off his thoughts, before completely giving up . He couldn’t even hide in his office at MI6 and work because every time he left to get tea or take a piss, every single person in the room would stop working so that they could gawk at him. It might’ve been to much to hope that things would just blow over, even given how much his subordinates had supposedly changed over the years.

“You should be sleeping. C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” Tony tugs on Q’s sleeve, then freezes. “Not that I’m trying to get you into bed or anything; not that I wouldn’t want to but-”

“It’s fine,” Q says wearily, sagging against Tony. He marvels at how disconcerting it is to be this close and not feel the gentle warmth of a fire after spending a week and a half trying to get forget of the taste of smoke and copper wires.

“Uh did you want to go to your nest? There are other rooms if you don’t. Or I could take you home.”

Q shakes his head. “Not home.” He has spent enough time in isolation there as it is, the emptiness of it more pronounced than ever now with James being heaven knows where. Q was surprised that Tony had never dropped by to visit him in the past week and a half. “My - our - nest would be good.”

“Sure thing.”

It’s like returning to the scene of a crime. He looks at the nest and it’s the same as it was before, but it seems foreign now, like this is the first time he has seen it. They’d spent three days here, almost fucking, cuddling, sleeping, then almost fucking some more. He skims his hand along the sheets. It’s so surreal he could almost believe that it’d been someone else who’d done all those things if not for the fact that he remembers the feeling of the sheets against his skin, the heat of Tony’s calloused hands as he pinned Q to them.

“Do you want to join me?” Q finds himself asking, the words slipping out as he toes off his shoes.

“Depends. Am I going to wake up alone again?” Tony jokes, in a way that Q has come to know means the Alpha is actually half serious but will deny it in a heartbeat if anyone tries to call him on it.

“Only if you snore.” Q discards his trousers and shirt then makes his way over to one of the larger side domes. Tony plops down beside him after a minute, his shirt still on, messing up the blankets and pillows that Q has been carefully arranging for maximum comfort. Q glares at him.“I hate you.”

“Ya?” Tony grins. “Then I guess I’ve got nothing to lose.”

Before Q can react, Tony is half on top of him and rubbing his goatee against Q’s shoulder and the side of his neck. Q shudders at the sensation of it and shoves at Tony’s chest. “Get off me! You know I hate that.”

“You mean you’re ticklish,” Tony counters, nuzzling Q one more time before sitting up, his grin even wider than before.

“No, I do not. Now get off so I can fix the blankets that you messed up.”'

Tony complies, though Q has to slap his wrist a few times to stop the engineer from “helping."

“So, are you back on suppressants again?” His Alpha asks when Q plops back down, blankets fixed. Tony pulls a blanket over Q, tucking him in, then spoons around him.

“I don’t know. Do you want me to be?”

Q feels Tony pull away a bit, startled. “What? It’s your decision.”

“But it affects you too and you’re still wearing the bond suppressant so I thought...”

“Well I wasn’t going to stop without warning you. Besides, I don’t think I’ve delivered on the promised number of dates yet.”

“Not sure we should follow through on that, given the way the last one went,” Q says wryly.

“Wait, I thought it turned out okay.”

“Ya,” Q agrees. “But I don’t like who I was.”

“Seconded. Not gonna lie, manipulating me like that at dinner was pretty rude,” Tony agrees, though they both know that’s not what Q meant. “Okay,” Tony tries again after Q doesn’t deign to respond, “I’ll bite. You were in heat. There’s not much you could’ve done.”

Other than resist it. “I’m more than a biological imperative.” At least, he had been until his suppressants had been replaced with placebos.

“Sure, if you hadn’t been on suppressants the past god knows how long, maybe you would’ve been more in control. At the point you were at, it wasn’t so much biological imperative as being out of your mind because of excessive self-medication. Like coming off a drug addiction.”

“I’m not addicted to suppressants,” Q points out. What is it with Tony and comparing everything to drugs?

“No, just terrified to go a day in your life without them.”

“If I was, would I be offering to stop taking them?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. What changed?”

Nothing. His hands still shake. He still gets headaches. He still hates 90% of his coworkers. “I don’t know. You? Me?”

Tony snuggles against Q, and Q can feel his Alpha’s grin. “Solid impersonation of an echo there.”

Q allows himself to bask in his mate's happiness for a moment before asking, “Did you like seeing me in heat?”

Tony’s grin disappears. “I didn’t like seeing you scared and in pain, but I’m not going to lie and say you weren’t gorgeous; you’re always gorgeous. And it was nice seeing you let go for once, getting to take care of you a little. The restaurant was really nice.”

Q hums at the compliment and memory. He doesn’t remember the specifics, which is a bit of a shame because the leftovers had been delicious, but he remembers feeling lazy and content, a bit like how he imagines Nono feels when she’s lying in a patch of sunlight. “If you like, we could try that again sometime. I don’t need to be in heat for that. If you want to wait though, my next heat is in six or so months.” Q rolls onto his back, stares at the ceiling. “Spending my heat with you...you were perfect, but I don’t know if I’ll ever stop dreading my heats or if I’ll ever want to have sex during them. And I don’t think it’s fair of me to ask that of you. That’s why I asked if you want me to go back on suppressants.”

“What do you -” Tony starts, and Q turns to look Tony in the eye, warning him to not insult either of their intellects by finishing that sentence. “Okay. I mean, of course I want to sleep with you, but not when you don’t want me to.” Q nods in acknowledgement. He knows that already. “That isn’t saying I don’t really really want you to want to. Anyways, sex isn’t about being fair. People don’t - or at least they shouldn’t - give a blowjob for a blowjob just to even the scales if they don’t like giving blowjobs. Sure, it’s considered a bit impolite to not reciprocate, but most people don’t want to feel like heels about would rather do something else that they’d both enjoy. Besides, sometimes people do things just because they want to do something, without expecting something in return.”

“So, no suppressants then?”

“Looks that way,” Tony agrees. “And, we could always try working up to it?”

Q almost laughs. He kisses his Alpha on the cheek instead. “Rain check. I really am sleepy and you had your chance two weeks ago.” With that, he flips back onto his side, smiling to himself as he settles into his blankets to sleep.

“Wait, what about the - nevermind, it can wait. Sleep well, Qtpie.”

\---------

Epilogue

Q curls against Tony, both of them wearing hats as to remain inconspicuous. It feels like it has been forever since they’ve gone out together, with the way they’ve been avoiding the media. They’re at a cafe that neither of them have been to before, some posh, conservative place that they’d both normally never set foot in. There are a few tellys scattered around the place and both of them are sitting at the same side of a booth so they can watch. None of the tellys are tuned in to Fox News, which isn’t surprising after what Tony, well Pepper, did to fix them.

Sure enough, the news programs that are showing slowly, one by one, flash from whatever was currently being reported back to the front news desks. The captions on each screen are all variations on a theme: their news sites have been hacked, any recent gossip pieces on Tony gone, replaced by an article written by an “unknown author.” Q already knows what it reads, but still his heart beats like a rabbit's as he watches the words flow slowly on the screen.

**_Read All About It (You’ve Avoided the Ugly Truth Long Enough)_ **

_By: TonyStarkIsMyMate_

_This is the only press release I will ever give. So read carefully._

_First of all. Yes, Tony Stark has a mate. One that is alive. Consider your rumors officially confirmed. I’m his mate, and he is mine. I enjoy my privacy, hence the ridiculous username and internet release. I am sure you don’t believe me, as many other people have tried to claim what is mine, so here’s a video of Tony affirming this._

_Satisfied? I’m guessing not. Aside from my identity, the question that has been shouted the loudest, the most often, with the wildest of answers, has been,“Why now? Where have you been all this time?” Most of your sensationalist, hypothesized answers that you’ve come up with over the year or so since discovering my existence have been unfairly unkind to Tony. By the end of this article, you may believe that the fault should be put upon me._

_I hid from Tony (thankfully, the media made this easy, always announcing where he was traveling to. I knew you had to be good for something.) ever since his name appeared on me on my 17th birthday, not because of **who** he was, but **what** he was: an Alpha._

_Growing up, I knew I was going to be an Omega. Not just an Omega, but the perfect Omega, as often praised by everyone from my peers to random adults on street before even coming into my designation. I had no qualms with that. I was happy with my lot in life. It wasn’t until later that I truly realized what it meant to be a perfect Omega in the eyes of most: unquestioningly obedient, dependent on an Alpha’s approval, seen, not heard. It was okay to be bright, maybe more than okay, but only if that brightness was channeled into the arts or something else aesthetically pleasing. I learned this when I was 16, and I decided it wasn’t worth it, to be a perfect Omega. To me, it wasn’t worth it to be an Omega at all. I started to strive to be everything that an Omega wasn’t._

_Let me tell you how I came unto this realization. I was...raped would be a strong word for it, but also the correct term for it. I never explicitly said no, maybe I shook my head, but I definitely never said yes, explicitly or implicitly._

_And that doesn’t sound like rape at all, does it? It’s not as if we ask our significant others, “So, you wanna?” every time we engage in intimacy. And I told myself for the longest time, that it wasn’t rape at all._

_Sure, I didn’t enjoy it at all, wanted it over with as soon as it began, didn’t want it at all, but that just makes it bad sex, doesn’t it? They were quite a bit older than me, but I was old enough to legally consent, even if barely. “They” being the four people I’d become closest with over the duration of the school year. Sounds less and less like rape the more I talk about it, doesn’t it? Sounds more and more like I’m just a bitter slut. Oddly enough, the day after I lost my virginity in this incident, word got around that I was a slut, not a bitter one though._

_So if I didn’t want it at all, why did I do it? Remember, this was around the time when I still wanted to be ‘the perfect Omega’. I’d let my friends down, gotten them a lower grade on a project than I’d promised them (though that was a reflection of the teacher’s biased grading, rather than of my mental acuity). I’d disappointed them. They wanted me to make it up to them. They praised me throughout the ordeal. How could I have resisted that?_

_Easily, you might say. How hard could it be to say no?_

_I was physically capable of saying no. Maybe they would have stopped. I don’t think they would have, but that’s almost besides the point. I remained friends with them for a week or so afterwards, reassured them that I’d enjoyed it, though avoided further “coitus” claiming I was still sore, which was true enough. Also true enough, at least for far too long, I never told anyone, just as they said I wouldn’t._

_I didn’t say no, though. Because I’d wanted things. Not sex, but praise, to be a perfect Omega, to make the like me again, and sex was the only way I could do that for them, they’d made that clear. Which, well that makes me a whore doesn’t it?_

_But look at it in a slightly different lens. A barely legal Omega surrounded by four Alphas who are displeased with him and it’s terrifying. He doesn’t know he can say no to an Alpha, doesn’t know why he would want to, doesn’t know there’s an alternative way this could go. He’s physically capable, but mentally incapable, as if the word has escaped him, disappeared from his vocabulary. He can’t form any words. He hates what’s happening, but he wants the results and that’s the only way to get them, isn’t it? It makes the Alphas happy._

_We could make hypotheticals all day, I could give you the blow by blow of what happened, every single word, and we could figure out where you draw the line between rape and not rape, what variables need to be put into the equation of sex to make rape come out. What if he shakes his head but doesn’t say no? What if he says yes, but obviously doesn’t mean it? What if he’s drunk? Sober? 15? 16? 12? Some cultures think it’s old enough why shouldn’t we? What if they were violent? Gentle? What if he was crying? What if it were your sister? You? Would it be rape then?_

_It’s easy to think that if I’d made a different choice, hadn’t gone to college, gotten a better grade or said no, or made different friends, that this wouldn’t have happened. There’s a reason why I didn’t think of this experience as rape for a long time. “I never said no” became my mantra. Thing is, there’s a harsh reality out there, one that most don’t want to accept, that I didn’t want to accept. It’s easier to pretend that nothing happened, that it wasn’t rape, because then there’d be no reason to fear, and you could believe that you’re safe, strong. Brave, even. Not a victim. Accepting reality means that you can be a good person, make good choices, and bad things will still happen to you. One might point out that maybe the choices I made weren’t good, or at least not good enough, but how one can always make the good choices? The choices that will lead to the desired outcomes when you even know you’re making a choice? How long until you slip up?_

_And did those Alphas not have a choice, an easy choice? To not take advantage of a startlingly young and naive not-even-an-Omega-yet Omega, who looked at them like they were the only people whose opinions mattered and thought their forgiveness was as vital as oxygen?_

_It took me a whole week after the incident to realize that something hadn’t been right. Being near them made my skin crawl. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. After all, all first times are bad, aren’t they? And we were all friends again._

_Finally, I realized what was troubling me. It was the way they looked at me. As if I was a sex toy, a **thing** that existed solely for their pleasure. The thought disgusted me, and I swore to myself that I’d never let an Alpha treat me like that again. I came to associate the presence of Alphas with being treated like a lesser being, if even a being, and I couldn’t disassociate the two. I convinced myself I didn’t want anything to do with Alphas. The mere idea of having an Alpha’s name on my skin, as if marking me his property disgusted me. Thus, when Tony’s name appeared on my skin I went on suppressants for a very long time. Much longer than healthy._

_This isn’t to say I didn’t want him. I did. I never stopped wanting an Alpha. Whenever I saw Tony on a TV screen I would be half out the door before coming to my senses. I just resented him even more than I wanted him; Tony represented everything I told myself I couldn’t want if I didn’t want to become a plaything in the eyes of the world._

_Fast forward some events and many years, Tony and I met. I was a complete utter arse to him, while at the same time hoping he could somehow “fix” me, erase the memories of what I had at that time thought of as “bad sex,” and maybe prove that 45% of humanity was worth believing in after all._

_People cannot “fix” each other. Not even soul mates. It is a terribly dangerous thing to believe that a person is more than a person, perhaps even more so than it is to believe a person is less than a person. Even after meeting Tony, coming to like him, I did not stop taking my suppressants. Nothing had changed._

_Then I was forced to take a leap of faith._ _Someone took the decision out of my hands, switched my suppressants out for placebos. I went into heat. It was terrifying._

_It turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Thanks to Hawkeye’s constant hijinks, it turns out that Tony is quite good at catching people._

_I’ve learned a lot from Tony. The way he treated me during my heat - which I will not go into details about to you vultures - is what made me realize and come to the painful acceptance that what had happened to me when I was 16 could not have been anything but rape. With this acceptance has come some recovery. I no longer fear belonging with - to - Tony. A person can only own you if you let them and belonging to someone is not a weakness, no matter how much it may feel like at times. Belonging to someone does not make you their property. If there is love, or even a modicum of respect, it becomes impossible to belong to someone without owning a part of them as well. It’s about companionship and a sense of home, not ownership._

_I can now say, proudly, that I’m Tony’s, and say it without feeling like I’m throwing away my self respect. I still hate most of humanity, but that’s because you’re total heels, not because I was raped._

_The reason I tell you all this is not for your pity, nor your scorn. I tell you this because I am tired of writers and readers alike sitting upon their self-imagined pedestals and looking down at a good man, and I see no reason to lie about what really transposed. There is no shame in having been a victim of a crime. You can make all the right choices, all the right moves, and still lose. Being a victim is not a weakness nor a failure. It is life. (Okay, so that’s not exactly what Captain Picard said, but I don’t think he would’ve minded.) And once I got over my fear, my shame, I started living mine._

_Lastly, I wrote this little piece because Tony and I want to be able to attend the wedding of our mutual friends, Alec Trevelyan and Steve Rogers, in peace. You've gotten your piece now so there's no reason to hound us. Yes, they’re getting married. No, it’s technically not legal - yet - unless Steve registers as an Alpha and Alec an Omega, which they shouldn't have to do and won't do, but that’s your problem. So help us fix it._

Tony pulls his laptop out of his bag and opens it on the table, strategically placing and tilting it so that they can both easily view the screen. He pulls up a plethora of tabs, scrolling to the comments section of each page. Like Q had expected, a large majority of the comments quickly rolling in are from bigots who couldn't have even finished reading more than the title before shouting their opinions into the void. 

"You know I'm proud of you, right? We all are," Tony praises, leaning into Q.

As if Q needs assuring. Still, he accepts the embrace, his heartbeat slowly calming at the comforting contact. "That's not why I did it." If it had been, he would've disabled the comments sections. Instead, he'd purposely hacked every major news website so that the comments sections would stay open and that no comment could be deleted or edited.

"I know. So, what should we do to them?" Tony asks, grinning like a loon.

Q snorts. "We? I already did all the heavy lifting and cleared your name. It's your turn, lazy. Besides, I was up all last night thanks to a certain someone." Q swings his legs onto the booth seat and rests his head on Tony's lap to catch up on sleep. Tony'll be busy for quite a while. When Q doesn't hear any typing, he lazily opens an eye.

Tony is smiling down at him. "James?"

 Q nods.

"Where is he now?"

"Classified. Now get to work. I expect a grand gesture. Something witty. Nothing boring like screwing with their credit, putting them on the no-fly list, or reporting the licences of their cars as stolen vehicles. I want a surprise when I wake up."

"I'm sorry, did  _you_ just challenge  _me_  to make a grand gesture? Did you just call me boring?" Tony asks, getting to work, fingers flying across the keyboard. "You know you're going to regret that right?"

Q closes his eyes again, listening to the steady rhythm of Tony's typing and breathing in the scent of coffee, pastries, and hearth. He purrs, soft and content. He doesn't think he'll regret it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Lots of talk about what is and isn't consent. 
> 
> And that’s the end folks. Thanks for sticking with me through this overly-long journey and major thanks to my beta, TriumphantDisaster. Holy Molly I still can't believe this fic ended up being over 100k words. I apologize if the ending wasn't very satisfying. I’d originally planned on doing five chapters, each from a different POV, to wrap the fic up, but I realized I couldn’t do the characters justice. The further down the timeline I got with this fic, the harder it has been to write it. I realize I’ve left a lot of things up in the air and a lot of little ends loose (e.g. why Hulk threw Peter Parker, whoops, so much for that ship), and sorry for that as well.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments/questions or message me at misadventureofme.tumblr.com. 
> 
> Some quotes that I borrowed and stole inspiration from while writing:
> 
> “Sometimes, I wake up at four in the morning, and taste smoke in the back of my throat. I swear to god, you’re still burning somewhere inside me.” - Solange
> 
> "Fear...is born of a story we tell ourselves. I chose to tell myself a different story...I decided I was safe. I was strong. I was brave." - Cheryl Strayed
> 
> “No one wants to accept that we live in a world where even though you did nothing wrong you can be brutally violated, whether by a trusted friend or a total stranger.Blaming yourself is far easier than letting go of the belief that nothing terrible, undeserved, and utterly unavoidable will happen to you. For, if you weren’t to blame, then it could happen again and there’s nothing you can do to prevent it. That’s the scariest thought of all.” - Susan J. Brison
> 
> “"Soul-mates aren’t the ones who make you happiest, no. They’re the ones who make you feel you the most. Burning edges and scars and stars. Old pains and pangs, captivation and beauty. Strain and shadows and worry and yearning. Sweetness and madness and dreamlike surrender. They hurl you into the abyss. They taste like hope. " - Victoria Erickson

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Read All About It CoverArt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/920008) by [TouchoftheWind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TouchoftheWind/pseuds/TouchoftheWind)




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